


A Holiday in Provence

by dracoismytrashson (JGogoboots)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Divorced Draco Malfoy, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Drunken Flirting, First Time, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter's Birthday, Implied Switching, M/M, Older Characters, Outdoor Sex, Post-Hogwarts, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/pseuds/dracoismytrashson
Summary: Harry Potter is turning 50 years old and feeling lonelier than ever. Divorced, retired, and learning he’s notquiteas straight as he thought he was, Harry reluctantly accepts a birthday gift from his friends for a week’s stay at an idyllic French vineyard. Too bad Hermione and Ron neglected to mention that the owner of the winery happens to be a certain quick-witted blond Slytherin…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[10](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> Thank you to [lettersbyelise](https://lettersbyelise.tumblr.com/) for the thorough and extremely helpful beta-ing for this fic! There are some plot points that absolutely would not have happened without her eyes on it! The guidance was much appreciated. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

Harry Potter wasn't great at taking holidays. He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly relaxed a full day in his life. Even after the nightmares and aftershocks of the war faded, there was an internal restlessness that permeated his very being, a need to avoid immobility and all the trepidation that came with it. Standing still for too long made you _think_ and _dwell_. These were all pesky things Harry had spent most of his adult life avoiding.

This wasn’t to say he never had fun. There had been Quidditch matches with his family, lifting little Lily onto his shoulders while Albus and James clung to his legs, Ginny beaming beside him, her wind-whipped cheeks flushed a healthy pink. There had been pub nights with Ron and Neville and occasions when Hermione expanded his cultural net with evenings at the theater in the West End. But to lounge about, soaking up the sun and emptying one’s mind simply for the sake of doing so? It sounded like the makings of a dangerously ticking time bomb to him. No chosen activity, no _goal_ in mind other than this elusive “relaxation” he’d heard so much about? That was a riddle of life Harry didn’t have the tools to solve, and that had been just fine with him. Until now.

With his retirement from the Aurors, his divorce from Ginny, and the kids all grown up, it was a puzzle he could no longer avoid confronting. Idleness was everywhere he turned. All of the aspects which had filled his life to the brim suddenly evaporated, almost overnight, and he was left merely with himself. Harry didn’t know what to _do_ with himself. How does one live purely for selfish pursuits when they’ve spent their entire lives doing the exact opposite? What were Harry’s wants and drives and needs now that he had no one around to tell him? Harry wasn’t sure he knew who he was without being bolstered by the people he loved, and the idea of figuring it out this late in life paralyzed him with more fear than any death-defying Auror investigation ever had.

It was rather pathetic, Harry thought as he sat on the platform waiting for a train that would take him to the idyllic French vineyard in which Hermione and Ron had been very insistent he spend some time. They had ambushed him with the surprise under the pretense of them all spending a weekend in Paris, and Harry couldn’t very well refuse such a nice gift.

He checked his watch, noting that it was half past two and the train would be due any minute now, and nervously jiggled his leg. Hermione had informed him that the winery had packages which included the cost of a portkey. It was a bit of a strange establishment as it was in Muggle territory but wizard owned. Therefore, it was frequented by both Muggle and wizardkind, and enchantments were set up in designated areas to allow for things like Apparition to go undetected. However, Harry had refused the convenience of the portkey and contended that the train ride from Paris would do him some good. Maybe taking the time to unwind as the scenery rolled by the window would put him in the tranquil headspace he couldn’t seem to achieve.

But now he was thoroughly regretting that decision, tranquility be damned. What the hell was Harry going to do during a three hour train ride except stew in the soup of all the thoughts he was trying to stave off in the first place? It wasn’t easy to start over as a single man, and it was even harder if you were a famous wizard whose mythology inspired many preconceived notions in your potential partners. It was harder still if you were turning fifty and just now coming to terms with the fact that perhaps you weren’t as straight as you thought you were.

"You’ve been miserable, Harry."

"Yeah, mate. Do something for yourself this year. Have a fantastic birthday. It's a big one; fifty years!"

Harry heard the echoes of his friends’ sentiments in his head as the train came roaring down the tracks. It was disappointing to learn that he wasn’t keeping it together as well as he thought. Then again, he’d never had much talent for disguising his emotions. Harry was someone who could never be described as inscrutable, and of course it didn’t hurt that his best friends had known him for nearly forty years. He wasn’t sure how spending a birthday _away_ from everyone he cared about could be considered fantastic by any stretch of the imagination, but Harry took a resolute breath as he heaved his small suitcase into the overhead bin and took a seat by the window.

Harry pulled a novel from his shoulder bag, but after ten pages or so, he had to concede that it was a lost cause. His focus was erratic. He couldn’t absorb the details and found himself rereading passages over and over again until he gave up with a beleaguered sigh and stared out the window as the lush greenery rolled by. It really was breathtaking, but the tug of loneliness and anxiety emanated from deep within his chest. This was going to be a long week.

 

***

 

The vineyard was a short, pleasant walk from the tiny train stop at the edge of the village of Aubagne, and the path was well-marked with handcrafted signs bearing the name of the winery in ornate script. _Le Dragon Vert_. It struck Harry as a very odd name for a French vineyard. It didn’t evoke any images of grapes or wine varietals, but what did he know? Certainly not a damn thing about wine which was yet another reason this trip was sure to be a bust. Hermione had insisted that wasn’t the point. One didn’t have to be a sommelier to enjoy reclining in the French countryside with an expertly crafted bottle of rosé. When Harry had opened his mouth to protest, Ron had interjected with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"For Merlin’s sake, mate, get drunk next to rows of grapes and stuff yourself full of bread and cheese until you’re bloody well pissed and happy. That’s an order."

As he entered the property, Harry had to admit it made a lovely picture. It was an impressive estate, sixty sprawling acres of grapevines, pines and oaks, and rows of fruit-bearing trees that he couldn't identify from this distance. It was a crisp, clear July morning, and the sky was a striking pale blue. The temperature was still a bit cool for mid-summer, lingering in the low twenties, but Harry was sweating a little in his maroon t-shirt by the time he reached the front steps of the castle-esque building in which he would be staying. When he opened the door, he found the lobby to be bustling with guests, a wide range of languages and accents mingling in the air as people chatted and rushed off to different parts of the building. The lobby was outfitted in expensive looking antique furniture in a color palette of royal blue and silver. To Harry’s right, there was a set of gilded armchairs, the upholstery bearing fleur de lis patterns, and two matching sofas arranged in front of a grand piano. To his left was a desk at which a busy young woman was on the phone, speaking brightly and rapidly in French as she typed on the computer in front of her.

Harry approached timidly and waited for her to finish. When she hung up the phone, she turned to Harry with a smile.

“Bonjour, Monsieur. Parlez-vous français ou anglais?” She inquired in a jaunty French accent.

“Er, English. I’m checking in? Harry Potter is the name it should be under,” Harry responded, his voice taking on a tentative tone as he looked about the room and saw the content faces of his fellow guests. All of them, he noted, not alone. Nearly everyone appeared to be coupled in one way or another, romantically or otherwise. The young woman typed on the keyboard, her long straight curtain of black hair swishing across her shoulders as she glanced from the monitor to the phone beside her, which had begun to ring once again.

“Ah, here you are!” She flashed him another smile before beckoning to a young man across the room who swiftly appeared by Harry’s side. “Antoine will show you to your room and give you a quick tour of the building. Sorry to be so brief. It’s a bit hectic today. Enjoy your stay. I’m Audrey; let me know if you have any questions at all later!”

She picked up the phone that was now ringing off the hook. Antoine took his suitcase and cheerily told Harry to follow him. He looked to be at least twenty years younger than Harry, sun-ripened olive skin, the outline of well-defined muscles visible underneath a black t-shirt, and artfully disheveled chestnut hair that fell just below his ears. He smelled like wine and heat and olive oil, and Harry fought the urge to lean in and take a deep inhale. He'd been here all of ten minutes and was already face to face with an Adonic representation of one of the biggest conundrums in his current life. Harry had only been divorced for a little over a year and separated for two. In that time, he had begun to find the space in which to confront a truth he had buried with decades of companionship with the woman he thought he’d be with forever.

Antoine was explaining how to get to the cellars, his bicep flexing as he drew his arm up to push tanned fingers through wavy locks. Harry bit his lip and nodded, unable to concentrate on the finer points of what he was saying.

_He’s probably half your age, Harry. For fuck’s sake, stop ogling him._

“Alright, I will let you get settled. If you’re hungry, dinner will be running until ten. Our chef is _vraiment genial_. He’s a Provence native who grew up in England, but he left to study in Paris and traveled the world from there, working everywhere from Japan to New York. He cooks traditional Provençal food but also incorporates elements of many different cuisines. You will _not_ be disappointed. No one leaves his table unsatisfied,” Antoine explained in a mellifluous French accent, an enthusiastic twinkle in his amber eyes as he waxed on about their head chef. He was very expressive with his hands as he spoke, which did nothing to discourage Harry from continuing to watch the fluid movement of his toned body. “Please join us for the tasting in the cellar this evening. The owner is here for the duration of the summer so he’ll be leading it. They will be unveiling a red Bandol that has just reached maturity. It’s been aging for over a decade so it’s very exciting for us. That’s at eight o’clock if you would like to take part.”

“Thank you. I definitely will. Which way did you say the dining room is again? Sorry, I'm still a bit fuzzy from traveling,” Harry said with a faint laugh, self-consciously running his hand through his own shaggy greying hair.

“Of course, of course.” The young man smiled cordially, and it made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “When you go down the stairs, make a left, walk through the library, and then you’ll be there.”

Harry thanked Antoine again, and when he had gone, Harry flopped onto the bed with a groan. His suite was decorated in more of the same style of furniture he’d seen in the lobby, but the color scheme was mahogany and white. His bed was canopied with a gauzy white fabric, and even the wallpaper looked too expensive to touch, ornate gold leaf on cream. He glanced at the antique pendulum mantle clock atop the dresser, noting that he had an hour and a half until the tasting began. It was just enough time to have a leisurely dinner and unpack.

Finding himself alone with images of Antoine lingering in his head, Harry’s thoughts drifted back to his sexuality. Now that he was free to start acting on the curiosity he had neglected for so long, he had no idea how to go about it. There had been a couple inept fumblings with men at bars that had resulted in _Prophet_ articles that made him even shyer about exploring his late-blooming preferences. Luckily, his children, his loving, big-hearted children who meant the absolute world to him, had received the news well. The chance to tell them himself was a terrible thing to be robbed of, but they all took it in stride, cautiously and sweetly asking him if he wanted to talk about it. Albus and James had sat on either side of him, holding his hands as they assured their father that, whatever he may be going through, they were there for him. Lily told him that she herself wasn’t sure how she identified yet and started listing famous people who had come out in later life, wizards and Muggles alike.

"There’s no 'one size fits all' timeline for these things, dad. Everyone has their own pace. It’ll be alright," She had said with a warm smile and pat to his shoulder.

Harry felt tears welling behind his eyes at the mere thought of the memory. He had been loaded to his fingertips with pride and affection for his children that day. Hermione had been very supportive as well, the unwavering pillar of friendship she had always been for Harry. Even Ron, emotionally clumsy as he could be at times, imparted kind words when they finally spoke about it. Harry’s mood sobered as he remembered that Ginny’s reception hadn’t been quite so warm. Her tone was accusatory as she quizzed her ex-husband, throwing pointed questions his way quicker than he could process them. How long had it been? Was he thinking of men the whole time they were married? Was he gay? Did he not love Ginny? Had their whole lives been a lie? Was this why they had separated?

It was hard to articulate feelings Harry himself was just now coming to terms with, and his fragmentary responses only served to further confuse her. He didn’t know how to tell her that it wasn’t about her and never had been. The way he felt about men didn’t negate or cheapen what he had felt for Ginny. They weren’t mutually exclusive things; they coexisted within him in equal strength.

"I just need some time, Harry."

It had been months since that day, and Harry had heard nary a word from her beyond the necessary civil communications about the kids or the leftover tasks of dividing their shared lives into two. What had once been a whole, the sum of their joined parts, was now two separate paths with ever-shrinking overlap, and Harry was only just now getting a handle on how to navigate the daily life of that.

His stomach emitted a telltale rumble, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since the small chocolate croissant in the Paris train station. Grateful for the interruption of musings he would rather cast aside, Harry got up and made his way to the dining room.

 

***

 

Regardless of how miserable he might end up otherwise, at least he wouldn't go hungry this week. Bouillabaisse was probably the most famous dish of the region, and the chef had prepared a Moroccan twist on the classic. The menu (thankfully, there was an English one in addition to the French so that Harry didn't have to muddle his way through) had described it as being comprised of "monkfish loin, grilled merguez, and chicken kabob in a tomato/saffron broth with sunchokes, grilled eggplant and harissa croutons." Harry only knew about half of those ingredients, but the waiter had sworn up and down that he would be in love with it ("a symphony of flavors dancing on your tongue, Monsieur!"). In addition to that, he ordered a cheeseboard of local specialties including Banon, Brousse du Rove, and Saint-Marcellin. All of them were so delicious, they made him practically moan in pleasure as soon as they hit his tastebuds, but the creamy, satiny-smooth Saint-Marcellin was his favorite.

Painfully aware of his lack of expertise in the area, he gladly took the waiter's recommendation for wine pairings for all the courses, including a dessert of lavender-infused crème brûlée garnished with a sprig of candied lavender. He had reluctantly ordered the latter, afraid he would need to be gracelessly rolled out of the opulent dining room by the time he finished the final bite, but it was too tempting to pass up.

He couldn't resist asking the name of the chef. It was obvious that whoever had meticulously crafted this menu loved food in a very personal way, and it made Harry curious about the person behind the meal.

"Blaise Zabini, Monsieur."

"Get out! Really?!" Harry exclaimed with surprise, his eyebrows drawn up high beneath his fringe.

The waiter maintained his cordial smile but was clearly disarmed by Harry's reaction.

“I went to school with him. I didn't know he was a chef now," Harry hurriedly explained. Harry had never known Blaise on a very personal level, but somehow it made sense that he'd gone into the culinary arts. Harry idly wondered if that was how Hermione had heard of this place. On a whim, he took a gamble.

"Tell him Harry Potter is here and thinks this is the best meal he's ever had."

"Certainly, Monsieur. I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it."

As the waiter walked back toward the kitchens, a large group of six who were seated two tables in front of Harry got up to leave. The dining room had been almost packed to capacity when he arrived, but the crowd was thinning as it neared eight o'clock, people heading off early to the tasting or back to their rooms. Harry took a sip of his wine and nearly choked on it when he saw who was sitting behind the now vacated table. In a light blue three-piece linen suit, a matching tie layered atop the white button-down peeking out from underneath his waistcoat, was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Harry hadn't seen him since Albus's Hogwarts days. While they would acknowledge each other on Platform 9 3/4 with brief nods that held no animosity, they never really spoke much. Even when Albus and Draco's son Scorpius struck up a friendship and began to spend more time together, Draco and Harry hadn't really interacted in any way that could be construed as "socializing." A polite "hello, how are you" perhaps, but nothing of real consequence.

In a way, it was bizarre to have this person who had been such a prominent thorn in Harry's side reduced to not even a secondary role in his life. Now he was simply another person Harry used to know, nothing more and nothing less. Still, despite their unspoken armistice, Harry wasn't particularly keen to encounter him on this trip. Blimey, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy in one night. Was the rest of Slytherin House squirreled away somewhere? Harry really hoped this wasn't going to turn into an impromptu Hogwarts reunion. He slumped in his seat, praying Draco's eyes wouldn't wander away from the book he was reading and land on Harry. Maybe he could slink away undetected if he just –

"Harry Potter! Fancy seeing you here! Marc gave me your message. Glad you're enjoying the food." A beaming Blaise Zabini appeared at Harry’s side. He flinched a little at the volume in which Blaise was broadcasting Harry’s presence to the dining room, debating whether or not to turn his head to find out if Draco had noticed. Still, he couldn't help returning Blaise’s charming smile. He had retained his handsome features, remaining trim and well-built with deep brown eyes and plush lips, his starched white chef's uniform contrasting with his chocolate complexion.

"Oh, it's brilliant! I think I over-indulged a bit, but it was well worth it. How long have you worked here?"

"About ten years now. I've worked all over, but this feels like my culinary home. Due to mother's many husbands," Blaise rolled his eyes and shook his head at that, "I'm sort of French-English-Italian-by-way-of-Mozambique. I've always been fascinated by jumping from this cuisine to that. Thought I'd give it a whirl about oohh… five years after the war I think? Turned out I had an eye for international fusion and blending unlikely flavor combinations so I've been doing it ever since. Never gets old, honestly."

Blaise lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned closer.

"Like discovering how to make a strange new potion every day. Endless excitement."

"That's amazing, Blaise. I'm happy to hear it." Harry smiled, eyes darting nervously over to Draco, still afraid that he would catch wind of their conversation and saunter over. As if summoned by Harry's gaze, he turned his head and looked _right_ at him. Harry swiveled his head back to Blaise although it was far too late to pretend he hadn't seen him.

"Listen, how long are you staying?"

"I'll be here for a week."

"Lovely. Well, let me know if you have any requests the next time you're in here. I love going off menu for the hell of it, drumming up something just to see what happens. It's the busy season so I'm usually running around like a mad crowd of pixies on the loose, but maybe we can grab a drink before you leave?"

"Yeah, yeah, that'd be wonderful. Thanks for stopping by, Blaise." It was hard to maintain his focus on Blaise because, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco rising from his seat. If Harry had to put a few Galleons on it, he'd bet he was walking toward Harry's table with a smirk.

"No problem. I'll see you later, Harry." With a friendly pat to Harry's shoulder, Blaise stood up and walked off in the direction of the kitchens.

No sooner had he gone than Draco appeared in his stead, electing to remain standing and looking down on Harry rather than sitting across from him. Although it was a few years since Harry had last seen him, he hadn't changed much. His hair was thinner than it had been in his youth, but it was still that trademark white blond with a precise part to the side, cut a little shorter now that there was less of it. Harry had to admit he looked stylish and handsome in his suit, a far sight more befitting a place like this than Harry was himself. His body had filled out more, svelte but no longer the bony, sharp physique he’d once had. Draco's angles had softened a bit, his countenance still patrician but less severe.

"Hello, Potter. I didn't know you were here," he said in a cool, detached tone.

"Why would you?" Harry hadn't meant it to sound accusatory, but he heard the old familiar antagonism spiking his tone. He tried to eliminate the bite from his voice when he spoke again, but although the _way_ he said it was less harsh, the words he chose weren't particularly amicable. "What are you doing here?"

Draco snorted in disbelief.

"Are you serious, Potter?"

"It's a reasonable question. It's a bit odd for us to wind up here at the same time."

"Is it?" Draco asked, a sneer threatening to spread across his pink lips as he narrowed his eyes. "God forbid I tread where the Chosen One chooses to spend his leisure time?"

"Merlin! No no, I just… thought it was _interesting_ is all. I didn't mean anything by it. Did you know Blaise Zabini is the chef? I only arrived a couple hours ago, and it's already been a parade of familiar faces. Such a strange night." Harry tried his best to smile, but it came out more of a grimace.

Instead of expressing any further irritation, Draco canted his head with a smile that suggested he was in on some secret and Harry wasn't.

"Oh, this is just _too_ delicious. Are you attending the tasting, Potter? It starts in about twenty minutes." Draco's smile broadened and he crossed his arms, clearly enjoying some joke Harry was not privy to. He was behaving very curiously, and Harry didn't have the patience to suss out why. Now that his dinner feast had begun to digest, his earlier fatigue from the journey was returning with a vengeance.

"I'm not sure. I was going to, but I'm rather tired. Might head to bed early."

"You really should come. It won't take long, and the wine is quite a rare one. I'd immensely like it if you agreed to come."

"Um, okay then… I guess I will."

"Good. I hope you enjoy your stay here. I'll see you at the tasting?" That mysterious grin was still plastered on his face, and it was beginning to make Harry feel very unsettled.

"Er, yes. I'll be there." Harry was incredibly befuddled. _Enjoy your stay._ What a strange thing to wish someone. It was something he expected to hear from the mouth of the clerk at the front desk, sure, but not a fellow guest. Draco ambled away, and Harry shook his head, reeling from that small but weird conversation. He scooted his chair back and headed out of the dining room toward the staircase leading to the cellar.

 

***

 

"Tonight, we will be sampling the red Bandol in two of the final stages of its vinification. First, we will be tasting the wine fresh from the eighteen month oak barrel aging process which is required for it to properly be deemed a Bandol red," Antoine gestured toward the barrels lining the wall behind him while his colleague, a blonde woman in a slinky black dress named Simone, delivered the same speech in French to the other half of the room, "and the second batch is from those that have already been bottled and aged within that bottle for a few months. It is the final product that will be shipped from the winery to other vendors around Provence so this is an excellent opportunity for you to contrast and compare the flavor of the wine at different stages. The owner of this remarkable vineyard is here with us for the summer and will be joining the tasting. Mr. Malfoy, if you'd like to come up and do the honors?"

Harry's jaw dropped to the floor as Antoine waved Draco up to the front of the room. As Malfoy walked from the back of the crowd, he flashed Harry a mischievous grin. He was obviously having far too much fun with Harry's ignorance.

"Good evening, everyone. I'm ecstatic to be here for the first tasting of this wine. We've waited over a decade for it to reach its peak, and I'm beyond excited to finally uncork the first bottle. My family has been in the business for generations, but this venture is a much newer branch of winemaking for me. I started this vineyard about fifteen years ago. As a boy, I completely fell in love with Provence and all it has to offer in its cuisine, its people, its culture, and, of course, its time-honored tradition of exemplary wine. So when it came time for me to open my own winery, I knew it had to be here. I truly believe there's no better place to make wine in the entire world. The red Bandol was the very first Provençal wine to hit my young lips so the fact that I've finally helped craft one with the help of the unmatched staff here is momentous. I'm glad you'll all be joining me on this very special occasion." Everyone clapped while Harry stood there, dumbfounded and agape. The way Draco spoke in front of the crowd was very antithetical to the Draco Harry knew. He was so affable and warm. He made eye contact and _smiled_ at the patrons. His excitement was so genuine, Harry could have sworn he was actually _glowing_. There was no condescension or annoyance to be found in this version of him. Harry snapped back to reality as he realized people around the room were looking at him and so was Draco. "I was wondering if you'd like the first taste, Mr. Potter?"  

Slowly, Draco's expression transformed into the smugness Harry was more accustomed to.

"S-sure." Harry gave Draco a strained smile and stepped forward, accepting the small glass he offered him with a muttered "thanks." Around the room, Antoine and Simone were filling glasses and handing them to the others. Harry tipped his glass back, emptying some into his mouth and swishing it around a bit before swallowing.

"Well? What do you think?" Draco said in a voice soft enough that only Harry could hear. The din of the room had grown now that people were drinking and sharing their thoughts on the wine.

"Um, sorry to say, but I don't really know anything about wine," Harry shyly replied, his eyes roving over the crowd, the barrels, anything but Draco. What a fool Draco must have thought he was during that stupid conversation in the dining room.

“Of course you don’t." He rolled his eyes. "Tell me, why are you on holiday at a vineyard then?”

Draco took a sip from his own glass, closing his eyes as he held it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing with an appreciative hum.

"Hermione and Ron surprised me with the trip. It's my birthday next Wednesday."

"Of course they did." Draco poured a second glass, this one from the bottle rather than the tapped barrel, and handed it to Harry.

"Stop doing that. I get it, I'm hopelessly predictable." Harry sighed and took a sip.

"Your words, not mine. Well, I hope you have a pleasant fiftieth birthday, Potter. Perhaps I'll see you around," Draco said with a cheeky smirk. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a tasting to run."

Harry downed the rest of his wine and glared at Draco's suit-jacketed back as he walked away. He would be spending his fiftieth birthday as a customer of Draco Malfoy's winery. As soon as Harry got back to his rooms, Hermione was getting an earful.

 

***

 

"Hermione, why would you send me on holiday to a vineyard owned by Draco?" Harry tried his best to dial back his incredulity as he paced about his suite.

"I didn't think it mattered really. All the old baggage between you two is history. It's been decades since Hogwarts."

"It has, but..." Harry struggled to articulate why he was so bothered by this. Something about that snarky mouth and condescending gaze made Harry's blood boil. In light of everything he was dealing with, maybe he was just ripe to pinpoint a new target for his ire, but seeing Draco had set Harry's teeth on edge. It was like picking at an old wound that had long since scarred over.

"Did something happen, Harry? Did he say – " Concern edged into Hermione’s voice.

"No, he was fine. I mean, he was the same annoying git he's always been, but he wasn't cruel or anything. It's not like I couldn't just try to avoid him all week." Harry sat down heavily on the edge of the large bed and watched the sky outside his window turn into vibrant pink and orange hues as the sun descended on the horizon. Perhaps, during another less exhausted evening, he would go find a peaceful spot among the trees and watch the sunset.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure if he'd be there. He still lives at the Manor, and I suppose I assumed this was a place he owned more in name rather than one he was involved with. That tends to be his family's way of managing anything they own."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Ignore me."

"Are you going to be alright, Harry? I really want this trip to be the opposite of stress for you." Hermione sounded sad, and Harry could tell she had picked up on the note of defeat in his voice. 

"It will be. I promise." Harry wasn't certain of that, but he didn't want to worry her, especially after she and Ron had gone to the trouble of giving him this generous gift.

"Okay, well… call me if you need to. You know we're always here for you."

"I know. I will. Talk to you later." Harry pressed the "end call" button on his mobile's screen and leaned back on the bed with a sigh. Tomorrow was a new day. Maybe it would be a better one. Maybe it would be the day he'd finally learn the secret of that rare bird people called relaxation. Harry wasn't counting on it, but as his head hit the pillow, he allowed himself a little bit of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Food Fair reveals are upon us! So happy to finally be able to share this work with all of you under my actual name. I adored writing this fic. It's one of my favorite things I've ever done, and I am so ecstatic that it seemed to get a good response from those of you who squee-ed in the comments. :D
> 
> I'm [dracoismytrashson](https://dracoismytrashson.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you'd like to say hello!
> 
> Thanks to the mods for being absolute superheroes! This fest was incredible and run so smoothly and with so much creativity.


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast was every bit as divine as the previous night's dinner. It was a simple but elegant spread of fresh sliced peaches and apricots drizzled with honey and sprinkled with goat cheese and herbs, a toasted baguette slice with butter and prosciutto, and oeufs en cocotte with pesto, bacon, and onions. The food was accompanied by the richest, boldest coffee Harry had ever tasted. It was impossible not to feel refreshed after consuming all of that. He had slept well, the soothing sounds of the country lulling him into slumber as he lay in the spacious, comfortable bed after a long day.

After his meal, Harry chose to join the mid-morning stroll around the vineyard wherein one of the head growers would explain the planting and maintenance process as they walked, culminating in a tasting paired with local cheeses, olives, and charcuterie under a pavilion near the grapevines. Harry tried to absorb himself in the information as the grower, a man called Colin, spoke, but he found it all to be a bit dry and insipid. He was droning on about how the pH of the soil and subtle changes in the climate affected the taste of the wine from year to year, about the logic of why they planted certain varieties in clusters of 8,000 plants per hectare instead of the standard 3,700-4,000 plants per hectare, and Harry wanted to _scream_. The subject made him feel like he was back in herbology class.

Harry absently thought that maybe he would find it all more interesting if Antoine was the one delivering the explanation, his muscles rippling beneath a t-shirt clinging to his taut torso. He chuckled under his breath before scolding himself for having such unabashedly horny thoughts about a stranger at ten in the morning. Colin was sadly not blessed with any features comparable to Antoine's to serve as a distraction from the lecture.

As Harry glanced around at the group assembled before him, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Everyone else was wearing a rapt expression as Colin continued, describing the pros and cons of planting the rows of grapes north to south versus east to west. The only exception was a man and a woman, a married couple Harry guessed from their gold wedding bands and linked arms, who appeared to be in their early to mid-sixties. They were exchanging whispered commentary that Harry could only pick up on in bits and pieces. They spoke a mixture of French and English, but Harry could tell from their stifled giggles and the tone of the snippets he deciphered that they shared his boredom and were making fun of Colin a little. 

_Clearly we’re missing whatever gene makes this all sound so fascinating._

After what felt like an entire day but was really only an hour and a half, they were at the end of the walking route, tables brimming with wine and succulent-looking food waiting for them under an oak-roofed pavilion. Colin's detailed explanations didn't cease; he switched gears from talking about the growing process to elucidating why each wine was paired with each food and what notes in the wine brought out what flavors in the cheeses and meats. Harry didn't find this _quite_ so boring as the earlier topics, but as a person totally ignorant of the finer points of wine, he'd always been skeptical when aficionados would talk at length about the seemingly endless tastes and smells they picked up on. Harry's palate was only capable of dividing the beverage into two categories: good and bad. He couldn't fathom how someone could pick out notes of cinnamon, leather, cucumber and Merlin knows what else in a glass of wine. He didn't know what made a red wine "jammy" and frankly didn't see why it mattered. Why did people need to write a whole manifesto on each one? Pronounce it delicious and be done with it already. The babble of a wine connoisseur always smacked of pretension to Harry's ears.

Tuning Colin out, Harry focused on the buttery, oozing triple crème Brillat Savarin melting on his tongue and washed it down with a dry rosé. The olives were unlike anything he had ever eaten in England, loads better than olives from a jar. Although it was about lunchtime when they finished, Harry was sated and a little tipsy. He decided to postpone another trip to the dining room and opted for a leisurely walk about the grounds instead.

Turning around every so often to make sure he could find his way back, Harry walked past rows of grapes he remembered Colin referring to as "Ugni blanc" and through flanks of oak trees. There was a gentle breeze shaking the leaves and cooling the thin layer of sweat on Harry's forehead. Up ahead was a picturesque pond. He walked toward it, intending to take a seat at the edge. Just as he convinced himself he had stumbled upon the perfect place to spend an afternoon in solitude, shaded by the swaying limbs of the oaks, he saw the barest undulation skate across the atmosphere above a small patch of grass.

He moved a few paces closer and waited for another indicative wave to appear. Sure enough, it passed across the same area of the left bank a few moments later. It was largely imperceptible, but in his work as an Auror, scouring the area for concealment charms had become a habit so automatic, he rarely noticed he was doing it. Without taking a moment to think, Harry grabbed his wand from his back pocket.

“ _Revelio!_ ”

Harry’s eyes widened as a completely nude Draco Malfoy was unveiled in the area where he had cast the charm. Although he was half-aware that continuing to stare was intrusive and inappropriate, Harry was somehow unable to stop. Draco was lying on his stomach atop a towel long enough to accommodate the full length of his lithe body, and Harry couldn’t stop noticing what a stunning body it was. The slope of his shoulder blades, the hollow of the small of his back, and the perfect curve of that pale arse shaded slightly pink from the sun was so –   

"Why are you still standing there, Potter?! Haven't gotten your fill yet? You've been gawking so long one would think you're getting off on it," Draco denounced sharply, spearing Harry with icy grey eyes as he propped up on his elbows, his back arching in a way Harry tried very hard not to find attractive. Harry snapped out of his reverie. What was he even _thinking_ about right now? How repressed and full of pent-up sexual energy was he if he was fantasizing about Draco Malfoy? Yet even as he mentally reproached himself for it, he found himself staring at the way the sun highlighted Draco's unusual shade of blond. Harry couldn’t imagine how anyone could deny that he'd remained quite fit, lean muscle with a layer of inviting softness that looked ideal for – wait, what?! He had to turn around _immediately_ or this was only going to get worse.

_You know he’s bisexual. Your Daily Prophet habit has made you well aware of that._

_Shut up, shut up, this is not a road we’re going down right now. Great – I’m yelling at the voice in my own head now._

"I… at least I'm not the one making an indecent spectacle of themselves!" Harry exclaimed defensively as he swiftly turned around, cringing at his own response as his face burned scarlet. He knew he was the one in the wrong here. He was the one who had cast the _Revelio_. If Draco wanted to sunbathe nude on his own property, that was his prerogative. And yet, for whatever reason, anger was the emotion rising within him. "And at your age, no less."

“At my age what?!" Harry heard the rustle of clothes as Draco presumably got dressed, and he didn’t have to turn around to know Draco looked positively murderous. "I should pack up my naughty bits and lock them in a case under the bed to dust off once a year now that I’m out of some socially predetermined prime? God forbid someone catch a glimpse of a middle-aged person’s body. And need I remind you that I was concealed before you came along? You and your lifelong proclivity for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong… What the hell were you expecting to find when you cast that charm? A hidden arsenal of Dark Artefacts?!”

“No! I-I," Harry spluttered helplessly, "Whatever – I guess it’s your right to cavort naked in public if you want.”

Harry hazarded a glance over his shoulder just in time to briefly see Draco's ivory torso before it disappeared behind the buttons of a pale green dress shirt.

“Cavort?! Merlin Potter, are you an Edwardian schoolmarm? I always pegged you for a prude, but this surpasses all my wildest notions. And not that it matters, but even without concealment charms, it’s hardly public. I _own_ this land. I’ll do what I like on the premises, and if you’re going to come here and tell me how to behave on my own goddamn vineyard, you can kindly pack up your things and leave, paying customer or not. I don’t give a damn," Draco hissed, butting the edge of his shoulder against Harry's as he strode past. "Nice to see your atrocious manners haven’t improved."

Harry watched Draco jog up the sloped bank of the pond, his eyes following until he receded into the distance, only a speck on the horizon.

He sat cross-legged at the water's edge and felt like a total moron. Why had he scolded Draco like that? Any sane person would have turned around and walked away, but no. Harry had to stay until he'd made certain he'd been a complete twat. He took a deep breath and collapsed on his back, watching the high afternoon sun shining through the tree branches, pure white clouds slowly drifting across a crystal clear blue sky. Anyone in their right mind would call this place heaven, but as Harry closed his eyes, all he could see were snapping flash bulbs as he kissed a man against the back wall of a pub, Ginny's tear-streaked face as she demanded answers, and a terrifyingly uncertain future stretched out before him for miles and miles.

 

***

 

Harry discovered that there was an outdoor patio just beyond the dining room on which one could eat anytime, weather permitting. He ate dinner there, munching on a colorful dish of ratatouille as he gazed out onto endless acres of flowering plants. He tried not to dwell on how childish he had been to Draco earlier, but his mind kept wandering back to it since the canoodling couples seated at seemingly every surrounding table did nothing to dissuade his spiraling thoughts.

The patio door slid open and closed behind him. A few moments later, he saw Draco rounding the perimeter, wine glass in hand. Harry watched as Draco headed for a gazebo situated on a gentle hill not far away. As he finished his ratatouille, the waiter brought out the set of macarons he had ordered for dessert along with a rosé made from Mourvèdre and bourboulenc grapes. He thanked him and, picking up the plate and his glass, started to walk over to the gazebo.

Draco's head canted in Harry's direction as he sat down on the bench a couple feet away from him. He didn't look as upset as he had earlier. Instead, there was intense skepticism written across his angular features. He was dressed more casually than Harry had seen him since his arrival, with a navy blue v-neck t-shirt and loose white linen trousers.

"Peace offering?" Harry outstretched his arm to proffer the plate of macarons. Draco plucked a pastel orange one from the center.

"The peach are the best," Draco said evenly, taking a bite and looking in front of him instead of at Harry. Harry saw the faded remnants of the Dark Mark on his left forearm as he brought the pastry to his mouth. He quickly changed his focus lest Draco notice.

“I’m sorry about earlier," Harry broke the awkward silence as he bit into a lavender macaron. “That _Revelio_ was just an old Auror reflex, but I wasn’t being very… polite.”

“You’re damn right you weren’t.” Draco's eyes met Harry's at the unfortunate moment he was frowning from the taste of the lavender dessert. Draco laughed, a sincere sound Harry wasn't sure he'd ever heard from him before, and the tension dispelled a little. "I can't stand them either. Too much lavender for me. No cream to break it up like there is in the crème brûlée. More like medicine than dessert in my opinion, but I've committed the blunder of telling Blaise how to run the menu in the past. It's a mistake I won’t be making again anytime soon."

"Pardon the bad joke, but he's an absolute wizard in the kitchen. I assume you were the one to hire him?" Harry put down the purple macaron and selected the apricot one.

"Seeing as how you're absolutely correct, I will pardon it for this one particular instance." Draco's face softened into the briefest of smiles. "And yes, I was the one to hire Blaise although he could have gotten a job anywhere he wanted."

“Look, if you still want me to leave, I will. I had no right to react like that. I don’t know what got into me. I think… maybe I was jealous.” Harry wanted to clamp his hand over his mouth, instantly regretting being this honest, especially when Draco quirked an eyebrow and grinned lasciviously. “Oh stop! Not of your body, but of _you_. I haven’t been that carefree since Ginny and I divorced. I haven’t been able to… I dunno. Let go. Enjoy myself the way I should, but that’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

It was a truth Harry hadn’t realized until he vocalized it. When he saw Draco by the water like that, the owner of his own beautiful French vineyard sprawled out for a leisurely afternoon, it had become clear that he was living his best life. Harry envied that easy happiness, but now that he had named it, he could have sworn all the air had left the atmosphere. He struggled to fill his lungs as his heart thudded in his chest. Vulnerability made him an easy target for Draco's particular brand of scathing criticism. To Harry's surprise, Draco only leaned back with a contemplative sigh.

“How do you always do this to me, Potter?”

“Do what?”

“It’s like time has stood still. All personal evolution vanishes, and I revert to my fifteen-year-old self. I shouldn't have lashed out at you either. Ignoring you would have been the decorous thing to do.” Harry didn't know what to say to that. Although he and Draco had come to a sort of unspoken truce in their adult lives, he had certainly never admitted to any wrongdoing. This was frighteningly close to an apology. They both quietly sipped their wine, the calls of birds and the rustle of the wind sounding around them as the sun began its slow fade into night.

“I know what you mean. Weird, isn’t it? We always have that effect on each other. Draco, I didn’t mean to make it…" Harry searched his mind for the right words. "I’m sorry if I intruded on the place that makes you happy by showing up here. I probably wouldn’t have come if I’d known you were the owner.”

“You’re not intruding. This place is open for all. I wouldn’t have a very good business reputation if I refused customers based on petty childhood vendettas.” Draco finished his wine and draped his arm around the back of the bench. Harry ignored the little thrill he felt rushing down his spine when the tips of Draco's fingers brushed his shoulder before Draco retracted his arm a couple inches.

“Still, it’s your right. I can leave if you like.”

“You're serious, aren't you?" Draco smiled and shook his head as though Harry was an enigma. "Stay, Potter. I'm sensing you desperately need this holiday.”

Harry nodded. He certainly couldn't deny that Draco was right.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you alone now." Harry got up from the bench, carrying his plate and wine glass.

"Harry?"

He turned around, perking up at the sound of his name in Draco's posh drawl. He wasn't sure he'd ever called him by his first name.

"Yes?"

"Except for the part where you got what I'm assuming was an unwelcome eyeful, are you having a good time here?"

It would have been a simple question for anyone else, but Harry struggled to find an answer. He considered lying, giving an impersonal, cursory response, but something in Draco's penetrating gaze told Harry that he wanted the truth. Harry was gambling a lot tonight, letting his guard down more than he usually would in Draco's presence. Then again, he realized that he didn't have much left to lose.

"Sometimes?" He responded with a clipped laugh. "But the rest of the time, I feel like I'm half somewhere else, like I can't make myself be present for whatever's happening right in front of me. It has nothing to do with your place! It's lovely here. It's like paradise, and the food is to die for, the best I've ever had by far. I wish I could enjoy it the way it's meant to be, but I'm having trouble getting out of my head these days."

Draco gave him a long, scrutinizing look that Harry couldn't quite gather the meaning of.

"Sorry to hear that. It's a shame to be miserable in a place like this. Goodnight, Harry." The dwindling sun glinted off Draco's silver eyes, and Harry was shocked to see the unmistakable bend of sympathy in those irises. It was subtle, but it was there.

"Thanks. Goodnight, Draco."

 

***

 

At lunch the next day, Harry jolted back, fork of pappardelle with truffles, olive oil, and garlic clattering to the plate as a familiar aristocratic voice said, “Good afternoon, Harry."

"Blimey, Draco! Where the hell did you pop up from?" Harry whirled around, looking behind him as though the archway of the dining room entrance held some clue about Draco's stealthy approach. Without asking, he pulled out the chair next to Harry and took a seat.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Draco apologized with a hand on his shoulder. Harry glanced at it distrustfully. "You're going on an adventure off the beaten path with me today, Potter."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked dubiously, eyeing Draco as though he'd gone mad and booked a one way ticket to the Janus Thickey Ward.

"You heard me. You're getting an atypical tour of the grounds from none other than the owner."

Harry searched Draco's face for any sign that he was putting him on, but found nothing but sincerity. That was almost scarier since it was far more out of the ordinary.

"But why?" Harry pressed, winding some pasta around his fork.

"Because you’re surrounded by beauty yet having an awful time. You're my guest, and this establishment has a spotless reputation. I can’t have you tarnishing it because you found some way to defy the odds and be a miserable old codger even in paradise," Draco stated matter-of-factly with a flip of his wispy blond hair, rotating the stem of Harry's water goblet between thumb and forefinger. The excuse sounded thin to him, but Harry relented anyway. Curiosity about where this was going got the better of him. Draco wasn't telling the entire truth, and Harry intended to find out why.

"Alright, where are we going?" Harry took another bite of pasta and waited for Draco to respond.

"You'll see," Draco said with a disturbingly veiled smile. He picked up two slices from the fan of strawberries at the edge of Harry's plate and popped them into his mouth. What the hell was going on?

“You show up here out of the blue to inexplicably whisk me off somewhere, and you can't even give me a hint?"

Draco heaved an impatient sigh.

“Potter, are you always this much fun? No wonder you're having a terrible time. We're staying on the property so just how perilous are you imagining this outing to be? What do you think I'm going to do? Murder you and dispose of the body as fertilizer for next year's crop? Finish that last bite or I'll do it for you, and come on." Draco pushed his chair back and stood up. Harry shook his head but obeyed, silently cursing himself for whatever he was about to get into.

 

***

 

Once they were outside, Draco looked around to make sure no one was watching, walked ahead, and beckoned Harry to follow him to what seemed to be an unremarkable clearing. As soon as Harry walked within the square patch of land, he felt the shimmer of magic, the ripples within the atmosphere.

"Concealment charms?" They were quite strong and expertly cast, no visible evidence of their presence.

"Correct. This is one of the designated Apparition spots." Draco held out his arm and bent it at the elbow. Harry looked from the outstretched arm to Draco's face and back again. Somehow, no matter how brief or accidental, Draco had touched him three times in two days. Harry thought that was probably more than they'd touched in decades. "Stop looking at it like it'll grow jaws and bite you."

Harry gripped Draco's forearm, and with a resounding crack, they landed safely in a field of lavender. It was a glorious sight, rows of fluffy purple flowers so vibrant they looked surreal, and the heady perfumed air was intoxicating.

"My god… I've never seen anything like it."

"You didn’t read the website at all, did you?" Draco cocked an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I told you. Hermione and Ron picked it for me."

"We have apricot and peach orchards as well. Olive trees too."

"Now _that_ I knew from the menu." Harry spun around slowly, trying to take in the full panoramic view. "What made you buy this place? I'd forgotten your family made wine until you mentioned it at the tasting.”

“Ah yes, Malfoy ‘superior red’. Not much for subtlety, apparently. Branded on the basis of maturing for a thousand years so as to make it rarified and sought after. Meanwhile, swill is still swill regardless of how much time it spends in an oak barrel in the cellar.” Draco made a derisive noise deep in his throat and started to walk through the fields. Harry followed him, the soft caress of lavender brushing against his jeans. When it moved in the breeze, it reminded Harry of a wizarding painting, alive yet trapped behind a frame all at once.

"Is there anything magical about the wine here? I haven't sensed anything."

"No, it's all at the mercy of the weather and chemistry. I like it that way. There's something powerful about submitting to it, letting the grapes and nature take its course. You can control some elements, tweak the soil, irrigate the plants, change the temperature once it reaches the barrel stage, but ultimately? It's all up to what the Earth decides to dole out that year. I love that every harvest yields something different and slightly unpredictable. I wouldn't want to alter it with magic. And anyway, it's a sort of magic all it's own, isn't it? Who's to say that spells are the only magic in this world?" Draco turned to Harry with a smile, and Harry reflected it right back. Draco was clearly the one who should be regaling the patrons with stories about the winemaking process, not Colin. His passion shone through very plainly, and it was a side of him that Harry had never seen before. It occurred to Harry that the vineyard was a way for Draco to take charge of his own family legacy and subvert it, reclaim it and reshape it into his own. Harry felt a strange tingle of joy for him and didn't know what to do with that.

"I never knew it was a passion of yours."

"No offense, Potter, but I’ve had a whole life you weren’t present for." There was a hard edge to the words, and Draco's jaw tensed marginally.

"I know you have. I suppose I know nothing about you as an adult. Not really." Harry walked alongside him, the gears of his mind turning as they veered left toward a thick row of peach trees.

"No, you don’t," Draco reiterated flatly.

"I’d like to." The words jettisoned from Harry's lips before he could think better of it, and he didn't blame Draco for inclining his head with suspicion. They both paused about a foot from a peach tree.

"Why?"

It was a good question and one Harry wasn’t sure he could provide a satisfactory answer for. There was this nagging itch inside him, a burning desire he couldn't name. Perhaps it was his innate tendency to want to right as many wrongs as he could, but this unforeseen situation seemed like an opportunity he should seize. Skulking around each other with covert looks of old disgust that should be long dead and buried seemed like a waste of a perfectly good chance to make a friend. Harry nearly shook his head with a sigh at the thought of that word in relation to his old childhood nemesis, but why shouldn’t they be? They were both grown now, and as Draco pointed out, they had lived entirely separate lives that neither were fully aware of. Harry didn’t know anyone else here and if he was being totally honest, he was lonely. Desperately and achingly so. If the unlikely presence of Draco Malfoy could help ease that ache… well, it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

"Okay."

The reply jerked Harry away from his manic thoughts, that simple word of assent bringing an exhalation of relief to his lips as he and Draco exchanged tentative, small smiles that spoke volumes.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, but this is to be an equal exchange, Potter. And while you're allowed to ask anything, I'm under no obligation to comply if I don't feel like it. Understood?"

"Understood. The same applies to any question you might ask me."

Draco studied Harry for a moment and then nodded curtly. He stepped closer to the tree and plucked a ripe fruit from the branch. He handed it to Harry who looked at it as though it might transfigure into a snake.

"Can I?" Harry asked as he cautiously raised the peach to his lips.

"No, it's strictly forbidden. I gave it you so we could play Quidditch with it." Draco crossed his arms and looked at Harry as though he were the biggest imbecile he'd ever seen. "Yes, you may eat it."

Harry bit into the fruit and involuntarily moaned. It was juicy and tender and bursting with flavor.

"Lovely to see your table manners haven't changed since you were shoving treacle tart in your mouth in the Grand Hall. All the finesse of a hippogriff tearing into a ferret."

"Oh, shove off!" Harry exclaimed as he wiped peach juice from his chin. "It's a juicy fruit, can't be helped. That's the best peach I've ever tasted though."

Harry took another bite and let out an undignified groan. Draco shot him an exasperated look, but Harry detected amusement underneath it.

He followed the line of trees until his eyes landed on a shirtless Antoine picking peaches and depositing them into a wooden bushel basket. His bronzed chest was glistening with sweat, and Harry’s eyes were glued to the rivulets of moisture running down his muscles.

_Good Merlin, is he real or am I looking at a romance novel cover come to life?_

"Need a handkerchief to wipe that drool from your chin, Potter?” Draco asked with an impish sparkle in his eye.

“W-what? I – I was just,” Harry stammered, averting his eyes and rubbing his beard with a timorous hand.

"What you were _just_ doing is leering at Antoine,” Draco chuckled and picked a peach for himself. He somehow bit into it without any messy results. _Wanker,_ Harry playfully thought.

"No, I wasn’t!” Harry insisted. “He’s practically a child.”

“Oh for Salazar's sake, dial back your internalized shame. He’s twenty-eight and built like a Greek god. Having a look won’t hurt you. Merlin knows the rest of us do; you’d be insane not to. Have you ever had an apricot fresh off the tree?"

Harry shook his head, and Draco started off toward the end of the peach trees.

“What do you mean, ‘the rest of us do’? Have you and he…” Harry trailed off, reluctant to ask outright.

“Are you seriously asking if I’ve slept with my employee, Harry? Apparently your opinion of me is even lower than I thought,” Draco scoffed.

“My opinion of you isn’t…” Harry sighed at his propensity for sticking his foot in his mouth. “I just wasn’t sure what you meant, that’s all. I wasn’t trying to offend you or imply anything.”

Draco’s stormy eyes lightened, and he gave Harry a little nod.

“What I meant was that you’d have to be severely visually impaired not to notice how attractive he is.” They plodded on for a few more yards, and then Draco added, almost as an afterthought, “Even if he weren’t under my employ, he’s not exactly my type.”

“And what is your type?”  

Draco stopped walking and gave Harry a curious look. Harry didn't address it, too wary of spewing some idiotic drivel that would earn him another scowl. He only shrugged and waited for Draco's cue. They both started walking again, a set of trees with thinner trunks and smaller fruits coming into view as they moved past the peach orchard.

“You are an odd bird, Harry Potter. Let's see… well, for one thing, I generally like a bit more stability in my companions. Antoine is still at that stage in life when everything is in flux. He’ll backpack through Italy for a month, fly off to Tokyo, then trek to the desert to take peyote with a drum circle of insufferable white men with dreadlocks. Which is fine,” Draco clarified as he met Harry’s gaze. “One _should_ spend their twenties throwing caution to the wind if they can manage it, but I require something a little more subdued than that these days.”

"Looking for something more serious?" Harry blushed as Draco’s eyebrows raised. He appeared to be assessing the nature of the question, and Harry became all too aware of how it might have sounded.

_Like I’m asking for ME. God, I really am a bumbling sort._

“Not necessarily. It’s not as though I fancy getting married again. I did that. I had that life.”

“Bad memories?” Harry wasn't sure if he should ask but figured the worst that could happen was Draco shooting him down with a rancorous remark. It wasn't anything Harry couldn't handle.

“No…” Draco tilted his head skyward, and Harry dutifully ignored the way the sunlight bounced across his pale hair and the beautiful alabaster expanse of his throat. _When did you become obsessed with Draco Malfoy's hair? STOP IT AT ONCE. Get a grip, Harry James Potter._ “Not exactly. It’s hard to explain. Life with Astoria was wonderful sometimes. There were moments where I was perfectly content and wanted for naught, but… the suit of that life never fit me. Just awkwardly hung off my limbs like a jumper two sizes too large. I always felt like I was playing a part I couldn’t quite get the knack of, you know? Like I was waiting for this moment of epiphany, like all it would take was one lightning strike of clarity and suddenly I would belong there. In that world my parents so desperately wanted me to reside in, in that quiet, married life with children, that inherent urge that’s supposed to be lying dormant within all of us activating at the proper age.”

Draco walked a little more quickly, self-consciously running a hand through his hair.

“It never did?” Although Harry suspected Draco was regretting having confided in him, this was quite a startling outpouring so he decided to push his luck a little further.

“Not really. I mean, I love Scorp more than I ever thought myself capable of loving anyone. I _learned_ how to love from him, and I wouldn’t change any part of my life because it brought me him. It’s all been worth it for that alone, but… after he had grown, there didn’t seem to be much point in keeping up the façade. And now,” Draco extended his arm to pick an apricot from the tree they were standing next to. He handed it to Harry, “I’m not really contemplating the idea of jumping back into something simply for the sake of doing it. I _like_ my life the way it is. I’m open to whatever comes my way; I’m just not actively seeking anything in particular.”

“I really admire you for that, you know. I hope I can get there.”

Draco picked another apricot and bit into it. Harry did the same, curtailing his moan this time. 

“You will. You’re the Chosen One. You can find a hot young thing to fuck aaallll the tentativeness out of you. Maybe even Antoine,” Draco declared with a wink.

Harry snort-laughed. He never knew Draco could be that hilarious.

“I don’t know…” Harry lamented, eyes roaming over the exquisite orchards surrounding them. He could certainly see why Draco loved it here.

“Oh, come off it. I know you have an annoying tendency toward modesty. I used to think it was false, and I was very chagrined to learn it is totally genuine. That said, surely you know you’re a handsome man who has remained so, Saviour status or not.” Draco said it so casually, as though it was a known truth instead of an opinion, his grey eyes not betraying any hidden motive.

Harry flushed and wished he had wine to blame it on. Red always made him more prone to blushing. 

“I’m alright, I guess.” Harry shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not covered in boils or anything.”

Draco laughed.

“You’re better than alright. I’m a man who enjoys a good romp with a cock so I should know. Just take the compliment.” 

“Alright. Thank you, Draco.”

“See? Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Draco smiled and patted Harry on the back. Had Draco always been this tactile or was this merely another facet of New Draco that Harry didn't know about?

“You think I'm handsome.” Harry waggled his eyebrows as he finished his apricot and tossed the pit to the ground.

“What are we, first years? Yes, I think you're objectively attractive. We’re fifty years old, Potter. I should be able to tell you that without you devolving into schoolgirl giggles.” Draco rolled his eyes and turned around, heading in the direction from which they had come.

“This is one to owl home about. Maybe I'll call Hermione tonight and let her know Draco Malfoy thinks I'm shaggable. Tell her to alert Rita Skeeter while she's at it.”

“Oh bollocks, forget I said anything, you unbearable twat!” Draco called over his shoulder.

“Alright, I won't send out a memo to the _whole_ wizarding world. Just our entire Hogwarts class.” Harry chuckled until he was doubled over in laughter.

“Potter, I'm warning you, I will hex you into next week!” Although Draco didn't turn around when he shook his fist at Harry, he couldn't hide the laughter that edged into his words.

 

***

 

They walked back to the lavender fields and Apparated from there, both agreeing they were badly overdue for the first wine of the day.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Harry took a sip of wine as he watched Draco eat a spoonful of chilled tomato and tarragon soup. It was a welcome dish on this hot day, the slightly sour, rich taste of the crème fraîche that was layered on top cutting the acidity of the tomatoes to make an expertly balanced flavor. Draco had the table etiquette of a rich man bred for leisure. He ladled the soup onto his spoon with a fluid motion, drawing the utensil away from his body before gingerly lifting it to his mouth.

“I told you – ”

“Don't spin me that bit about protecting the business again. We both know this place isn't dependent on whether or not Harry Potter approves of it. It's obviously thriving.”

“Do stop being tedious and eat your soup.” Draco didn't make eye contact and ate another spoonful.

“I was an Auror for over thirty years, Draco. You're leaving something out.”

“Were you? Because the Harry Potter I went to school with was incomparably dense and oblivious to everything that wasn't right under his meddlesome nose.”

Harry put down his wine glass, leaned back, and crossed his arms, fixing Draco with a defiant look that said _you're not getting out of this one._ Draco groaned and laid his spoon across the brim of his bowl.

“Fine, fine, but before I tell you, you have to promise you won't get all dramatic on me. No trite 'I feel betrayed over this minor detail and am going to storm off into the rain' speeches that belong in histrionic fiction and not reality.” Draco crossed his legs and laid his right hand across his knee, long fingers splayed out. His posture was always so practiced, so elongated. Harry had forgotten how much that made him feel like the unrefined boy from under the stairs. 

Harry considered his options for a moment and then nodded.

“Hermione knew I owned this place. When she found out from _you_ that I was here for the summer, she asked if I would check in on you a bit. Make sure you're having a good time.”

“Great, I'm a piteous child who needs looking after.” Harry slumped sullenly in his seat, dragging his spoon through the thick red liquid. Hermione had asked Draco to keep an eye out for him. What in Godric’s name had possessed her to do that? And what had she told Draco about Harry’s life? He couldn't imagine Hermione giving out mortifying details to Draco of all people, but then again, he wouldn't have ever pictured her asking his old adversary to check up on him either. It didn't quite add up, and Harry intended to get to the bottom of it.

“Oh, don't sulk! She's your friend, and you've had a rough go of it recently. Divorce is about as much fun as being slowly torn to bits by a Hungarian Horntail. I should know. Mine happened six years ago, and I _still_ have flashbacks of penny-pinching lawyers running their grubby paws along every inch of my estate like every stone could be milked for more Galleons. And that's not even mentioning the field day the papers had with the news.” Draco's eyes fogged over for a second, and Harry reflected back on the _Prophet's_ coverage of all the sordid details. It was quite the scandalous bit of news in the wizarding world at the time. Divorce in prestigious pureblood families was virtually unheard of, and a pureblood being openly bisexual was even less so. It was bizarre how far they lagged behind the rest of the world, remaining stagnant and set in their old ways even as they abandoned some of their more pernicious ideas. It must have taken a lot of courage for Draco to make those bold decisions in the face of endless judgment from family and strangers alike. Harry's heart had gone out to him at the time, and now he realized how ironic it was that his marital life was following a similar trajectory to Draco’s. It appeared they had more in common than Harry would have ever thought. “Granger cares about you. Friendship isn't the same as pity.”

“I guess you're right. Still, that doesn't really explain why you agreed to it,” Harry pointed out with a frown.

“I wasn't being completely disingenuous earlier. I _do_ care about whether or not my guests enjoy themselves, but I will admit to a rather… gauche curiosity about you. Family man and all around shining beacon of morality, Harry Potter himself, isn't someone I'd expect to leave his wife and end up pressed against a dirty back wall of the Leaky with a man's tongue down his throat. Can't let the opportunity to grill him on the tawdry details slip through my hands, now can I?” Draco smirked haughtily as he leaned back and took a drink of wine. Harry felt his cheeks turn splotchy-red with anger, and it was like someone had flipped a switch on the energy in the room.

“So it's you relishing the chance to humiliate me just like old times?” Harry pushed his chair back and stood up. “Well, you can save your breath, Malfoy, because we're not thirteen, and I don't have to tolerate you anymore.”

“Oh come on, Harry. I didn't mean – ” Draco lightly curled his fingers around Harry's elbow, but Harry shook it off.

“I came here to _forget,_ Malfoy _._ Not be your source of entertainment! Except everywhere I turn, there are couples enjoying this romantic getaway, and I can't stop hearing Ginny's broken voice in my head and thinking about all the ridiculous articles Rita Skeeter published about me,” Harry heard his voice climbing and felt the burning gazes of people in the dining room, but he didn't care. Draco's eyes began to flit about nervously, and Harry thought _good, let him be embarrassed._ “I don't know how to wash my hands of any of it. I don't need you having a go at me too.”

Harry stomped out of the dining room and headed straight to his suite. It was far too early to sleep, and he was too distraught to do so anyway. He considered calling Hermione to ascertain just what the hell she was thinking, but the rational part of his mind knew it was better to wait until he cooled off and gathered his thoughts. Harry stripped out of his clothes and padded into the bathroom, turning the temperature of the shower to a scalding heat before stepping inside. He stood underneath the pelting hot spray and wondered if anyone else was this much of a mess at age fifty.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite his concentration still being abysmal, Harry managed to slog his way through twenty pages of his book when he heard a knock at the door. Assuming it was housekeeping, he opened it, all set to tell them to come back later. He didn't expect Draco to be on the other side, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses between the dexterous fingers of the other.

"Peace offering?" Draco asked, mimicking Harry's earlier words with a remorseful smile. "Look, I really wasn't trying to resurrect our tiresome old dynamic. Sparring with you is an itch I have a tendency to scratch, yes, but I'm not seeking any blackmail-worthy dirt on you. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, although the quid pro quo agreement for the exchange of information still stands."

"But what's in it for you if you're not looking to play games with me?"

"Oh Merlin, Potter, are you out to make me beg for your company? Because I'm fairly certain even your dim-witted brain knows that's out of the realm of possibility." Draco leaned against the doorframe and narrowed his eyes, his patience seemingly wearing thin. "Come drink with me or don't; I personally couldn't care less. It's no skin off my very attractive nose, but stop interrogating me like I'm the subject of one of your Auror investigations."

Harry sighed heavily, hands on his hips. Draco was still being rather maddening, but fuck it. It was near sunset now, and what else did Harry have to do before bed except reread the same two pages of a book he couldn't focus on?

"Alright, do you want to come in?"

"Come to mine. It has a lot more space. Unless of course you'd like to get nice and uncomfortably cozy on your bed." Draco raised a playful eyebrow.

"God, you're infuriating. Wait out here. I'll put some proper clothes on."

 

***

 

Draco's suite was indeed impressive. There were three separate rooms in addition to the bathroom: a living room with a dark green velvet sofa and two matching chairs, a sort of partial sun room with a chaise, desk, and several book shelves, and a bedroom Harry could only catch a glimpse of through the ajar door.

Harry took a seat on one end of the sofa as Draco uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass. Draco handed one to Harry as he sat on the opposite end.

"Alright, Potter. I think the only way to fully break the ice is if we get good and drunk. How do you feel about that?" Draco took a hearty gulp of his wine instead of the dignified sips Harry was used to seeing him take.

"Well, it's probably not the most responsible – "

"Dear god, are you always this uptight? Live a little, Harry. You're on holiday. Are you in or out?" Draco braced his elbow against the back of the sofa and leaned his head on the heel of his hand.

Harry took a steadying breath and licked his lips.

"In," he agreed at last. Draco raised his glass in a toast, and Harry clinked his own against it. Harry felt like he'd just made a pact with the devil, and he hoped to Merlin he would survive it. He figured getting drunk with a Slytherin was treacherous territory.

"As the guest of honor, I'll allow you to go first. Ask me something you're dying to know, and I'll do likewise. Glasses must be emptied by the time the second person answers the question posed to them."

"Aren't we a little old for drinking games? We'll have alcohol poisoning in an hour's time," Harry remarked with a chuckle.

"No, we won't." Draco rolled his eyes, his leg bouncing manically. Was he fighting boredom or nerves? "It's a glass of wine, not a pint. I have loads of hangover potion if you need it in the morning. Come on, ask me something before I get bored and change my mind."

Harry took a drink and mused on how best to use this free pass. It was a golden opportunity he didn't want to squander.

"How long have you known you were… attracted to men?" Harry asked timidly, praying his cheeks didn’t start blushing wildly.

"I figured you'd start there. The answer is a long, long time, Potter. I probably shouldn't have rushed into marriage with Astoria, but my parents were always stressing the importance of producing an heir. Astoria was the very first person to not look at me like..." Draco trailed off, pale eyelashes fluttering as he looked down into the pink liquid of his glass. A tendril of empathy spread through Harry at the thought of young Draco caving to the pressure of living up to the Malfoy name. So many things in Draco’s life had been a direct result of him being coerced into doing something he wasn’t ready for, all for the sake of family obligation. Harry felt foolish for not considering that marriage was probably one of those things.

"Like you were the sum of all your baggage?" Harry hesitantly gazed up at Draco.

"I suppose you know a thing or two about that, don't you?" Draco gave him a poignant smile. "I'll use my first question to ask you the same, Potter."

"It's been a long time for me too. With everything that happened at Hogwarts and during the war, I… I didn't have a lot of time to think about things like that. After the dust settled, I found myself thinking about men more and more, but by then..." Harry took a drink, letting the semi-sweet liquid coat his throat and warm his belly. How could he even begin to describe this without sounding like he was blaming Ginny? He didn't blame her, not at all. As usual, Harry only blamed himself.

With Ginny, he had been afforded the luxury of ignoring those intrusive thoughts; after all, it didn’t very well matter if he couldn’t _do_ anything about it. Harry vaguely knew that other people engaged in more untraditional… _arrangements_ , but that was never on the table for him. Not only because Ginny would never have been willing to discuss the possibility, but also because Harry was, at heart, a loyal monogamist. It was just how he operated. When Harry loved someone, he loved them wholly, devoted in a way which left little room for anyone else. He couldn’t imagine how it would have worked if he’d opened their marriage to allow him to explore his feelings for men. Sure, it had been painful sometimes, wanking in the dark to thoughts of a thick cock in his mouth or his arse, slowly filling and stretching him in ways his body had never experienced, full well knowing he may never get to learn what those sensations felt like. But it wasn’t something he thought he could juggle alongside his commitment to Ginny and the kids; he didn't excel at dividing his attentions.

"By then you were already married to Ginevra?" Draco perceptively finished for him. Harry nodded, sadness in his heavy-lidded eyes, and they exchanged looks of understanding. Neither of them put it into words, but there was a kinship developing, an acknowledgment that perhaps they weren't so very different from one another. It was small, but it was there. "I felt bad for you, you know. Maybe it's because I knew what it felt like, but the public gawking at your personal tragedy to sell papers and feel better about themselves made me sick. It’s people who don't have lives of their own manufacturing sensationalist fodder they call 'journalism' just so they can feel a thrill. They should get another hobby."

Draco's tone was dripping with indignation, and while Harry agreed with him, he thought perhaps a change of subject might do them both some good.

"I couldn't agree more. Bottoms up?" Harry raised his glass, and Draco did the same. They downed what wine remained, and Draco poured them two more.

"Who was the first man you kissed?"  

"Blaise, and that vain bastard loves reminding me at every turn. It's like he thinks a sloppy sliding of lips at age fourteen led him to achieve sex god status." Draco laughed and shook his head.

"Did you date? Is he gay?" Harry could feel himself sounding a little too excited by the prospect, but trading stories about their old schoolmates almost felt like… dare he say it, _bonding_?

"Why? You fancy him?" Draco grinned wickedly.

"No! I mean… yeah, he's attractive, but no. I was just wondering."

"We didn't date. It was only a one off fumbling at a party. He's straight as an arrow, unfortunately. Waste of a sublime arse if you ask me. Who was yours?"

"And you say I'm the predictable one! Are you going to parrot back my own questions all night?" Harry deflected.

"Merely trying to accommodate you with softballs, Potter. Don't want you scurrying off like a scared rabbit again. Remember, you can refuse to answer." Draco took a drink and scooted closer, angling his legs inward. Harry's heart thumped in his chest, and he fought against the desire to speculate about what those legs looked like naked.

"It's fine, I... that picture you mentioned? In the _Prophet_? Well, that was my first kiss with a man. He ran to the papers afterward. It's sort of hard to find someone who won't... I never know if someone is attracted to _me_ or the idea of me. I didn't think it would be a problem. Naive I guess, huh? I just figured it would all die down now that I'm older, but with the divorce... it was like I was a teenager again. Suddenly I was all the papers wanted to talk about." Harry finished his wine, and Draco followed suit.

"Sorry to hear that. He's a fucking prick." Draco refilled their glasses, his fingers brushing Harry's as he poured. "If it makes you feel any better, I dated a man who turned out to be a creep with a Death Eater fetish. People are the goddamned worst."

"I will drink to that. Fuck people!" Harry raised his glass, the alcohol beginning to course through his veins and pleasantly buzz under the surface of his skin, and Draco laughed.

"Fuck people!" He agreed. They toasted and each took long swigs of alcohol, any remaining tension in the room disappearing thanks to the aid of the wine. It was as potent as it was delicious, and if Harry felt any stirring under the lap of his trousers, well… he could always blame it on the rosé.

 

***

 

As they became more inebriated, the topics of conversation got looser and funnier until Harry could hardly reconcile this charming, engaging man before him with the bitter, sneering boy he had grown up with. He was still sarcastic and biting, but it was mostly funny instead of offensive, artful instead of insulting. As the evening went on, they gradually moved closer until they were seated side by side, only an inch or two between them. When either of them would lean in, their thighs would press together for a second or two, and Harry's breath would hitch, his cheeks and throat flushing with excitement. He told himself he was just drunk, that he wouldn't be feeling like a nervously crushing schoolboy if he were sober, but Draco's behavior did nothing to discourage it.

After all, he _had_ told Harry that he found him attractive, and the incidental little touches, the clasping of an arm and the brushing of a hand across another, kept occurring. The air felt charged, electrical pulses of magic and attraction swirling in the atmosphere until Harry could almost taste it, could reach out and grasp it with his hands. Draco was lovely like this, his sharp features more relaxed, his smile a little goofier with drink, his eyes soft and kind. The tip of his tongue darted out to sweep across his bottom lip, and Harry ached to replace it with his own.

Draco was animatedly reminiscing about the time Hermione had punched him in the face during third year, and it left both of them laughing until tears were leaking out of their eyes.

"You always were afraid of her above everyone else at that school." Harry wiped his eyes as he caught his breath, coming down from his hysterical giggles.

"Can you blame me?!" Draco exclaimed.

"Not at all! She's fucking terrifying! The most formidable person I've ever known. I would've died a long time ago if it weren't for her."

"To Hermione." Draco raised his glass for the umpteenth time that night. Harry had lost track of how many toasts they'd made sometime after they decided to drink in tribute of "cocks and the sexy Frenchmen they're attached to."

"To Hermione!" Harry's head was swimming. He knew himself well enough to know that he'd feel a whole hell of a lot better in the morning if he got some food in him. "Do you have anything to eat in here?"

"Cheese, olives, bread, some peaches." Draco got up as he spoke. Harry strained his neck to follow Draco's path, his drunken head feeling heavier by the minute. When Draco came back, he had a veritable feast in his arms which he deposited on the coffee table in front of them. "Voila!"

"You are an absolute god, and I adore you." Harry descended on the food, unwrapping some cheese, slicing off a hunk, and slathering it on a baguette slice. He moaned as soon as the taste hit his tongue. "I think I could live off this cheese."

"I know. It's the best food in the whole world." Draco spread some cheese on a piece of bread and managed to eat it with grace despite the fact that he was every bit as drunk as Harry. Harry watched the muscles of his jaw working, that unbelievably chiseled jawline, and all he could think about was covering the length of it with kisses. He felt a wave of heat wash over him, a bulge in his trousers beginning, and he took a risk.

"You know you're very handsome too."

Draco's shock was obvious, his pupils wide and his mouth slack, but he recovered quickly, a mask of composure shifting over his face.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that."

"Handsome _and_ humble! You self-centered git." Harry chuckled and playfully slapped Draco on the arm.

"Well, it's true! I do thank you for noticing though, Potter. Took you long enough. Here, have an olive. They’re from the trees on the property, of course. Brine-cured by Blaise too; he’s very proud of them.”

Harry turned to Draco and froze in surprise when he saw that he was holding an olive in front of Harry's mouth with the intent of _feeding_ it to him _._ Harry's mouth dropped open automatically, his body disobeying the part of his brain screaming that perhaps this was a bad idea. He leaned forward, his lips closing around the olive and Draco's fingertips. His tongue licked across the pads of Draco's fingers as he sucked the olive into his mouth, the juice of the fruit mingling with the salt of Draco's skin. It couldn't have lasted more than two seconds, but Harry's cock swelled at the lingering sense memory of the texture of Draco's skin on his tongue, his fingertips more calloused than he had expected. He could have sworn he heard the faintest gasp escape Draco's lips as the tip of his tongue danced across those long fingers. Harry slowly chewed the olive, his lust-blown pupils meeting Draco's. Draco swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and Harry's eyes hungrily followed the movement. Draco's gaze moved from Harry's eyes to his lips and back again.

_God, I want him so fucking badly._

Suddenly, panic seized Harry. What the fuck was he doing? He had to get out of there before he did something he'd truly regret.

"Um... it's getting late. I should probably get back to my room and drink a gallon of water even though I know it won't make much difference at my age." Harry forced out a nervous laugh and stood up. Draco collected himself, brushing imaginary crumbs off his trousers, and stood up to see Harry out.

"True. We're definitely not as young as we used to be." Draco opened the door, and Harry stepped through, turning around as he did.

"Goodnight, Draco. I… I had a really good time." He smiled in spite of how conflicted he was feeling, and relief flooded through him as Draco smiled back.

"Yeah, me too. Goodnight, Harry."

 

***

 

Harry got up later than usual the next morning, guzzling hangover potion and water followed by a long soak in the tub before heading down to breakfast. It was nearly eleven by then, but thankfully Blaise extended breakfast a little so Harry could order the mushroom, fennel, leek, and goat cheese quiche. The fluffy, cream-laden eggs embedded in flaky puff pastry lifted the last vestiges of his hangover quite nicely. His headache all but evaporated, Harry decided to brave the sunlight and finish his coffee on the patio. With breakfast over and the lunch crowd not gathering just yet, the patio was mostly empty. Only two tables were filled.

Harry spotted the humorous couple from the interminable grower's walk on his first day. Maybe he was emboldened from his night with Draco or maybe he was finally settling into the groove of things, but sitting alone didn't feel like the best option anymore. They had introduced themselves briefly during the tour, but all Harry had really learned was that they lived in Belgium near Brussels, François hailing from Lyon and Rosamunde an Englishwoman from Cambridge.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all! Harry, I believe it was?" Rosamunde scooted her chair in to make room.

" _Naturellement, asseyez-vous_!" François declared amicably.

" _Merci_ , François. And yes, it's Harry. Good memory."

"Ah, well these old bones may be slowly crumbling, but this," Rosamunde tapped a finger on her temple and took a sip of coffee, "is sharp as a scythe."

They were a handsome couple with thick greying hair and pleasant laugh lines surrounding vivacious eyes. Rosamunde reminded Harry of Hermione a little, very well-spoken and stern yet kind. François seemed to bring the silly side out of her the same way Ron did for Hermione, and Harry had enjoyed watching their good-natured sniping from afar whenever they crossed paths. He liked that they reminded him of home.

"I wish I could say the same. I'm turning fifty in two days, and I think my memory is getting worse by the minute," Harry declared with a laugh.

"Just keeping drinking the wine here, and the mind will repair itself." François, who was apparently getting started early today, raised his glass in salute. Rosamunde rolled her eyes.

"Fairly certain it does the exact opposite or else you wouldn't have spent ten minutes this morning looking for the glasses that were perched atop your thick head the whole time." Rosamunde smiled into her coffee.

"Harry, my mother said 'never marry an Englishwoman. They are too smart for their own good, and they know it. They'll cause nothing but trouble for you!' And you know what? She was absolutely right!" Rosamunde clapped François on the shoulder, and they both laughed.

"My best friend is an Englishwoman quite a lot like Rosamunde so I have to agree with you. That said, if it weren't for her keen mind, I wouldn't have made it to fifty." Harry gazed out into the distance, basking in the acres upon acres of gorgeous land in front of him. It had taken a few days, but Harry was beginning to tune out the voices of anxiety and revel in the sensual pleasures of good food, good wine, and good company. Although he knew Draco had a lot to do with that, he pushed away all memories of lips around fingers and heated gazes. He clearly hallucinated that. Enough wine could do that. It was definitely the wine.

"I can’t think of a better place to spend a birthday. Was the trip a gift?" Rosamunde asked.

"It was actually. From the very smart Englishwoman and her husband."

"Fifty is a wonderful year, Harry. Guaranteed to bring you good things. If you’re not busy, come find us Wednesday! We'll have a celebratory drink," François said as he drank the last of his wine.

"Thank you. I'd like that."

They chatted until the lunch crowd rolled in an hour later. The pair was intrigued when Harry told them he knew Draco from their boarding school days. Their interest was piqued even more when he informed them that the gregarious man in light linen suits used to be a dour teenager clad in head-to-toe black.

"I adore finding out what terrors people were as teenagers. Reminds you that we're all cut from the same damaged cloth," Rosamunde observed, and Harry smiled at the thought of Draco’s devoted staff getting a window into his bratty past. From everything Harry had seen since he arrived, Draco treated his employees with care and fairness. He really had come a long way from that pinch-faced bully.

Harry's mobile emitted a short ding, and he pulled it out of his pocket to find a message from an unknown number.

_I hope you don't mind, but I nicked your number from the guest registry. I could have gone the antiquated route and sent you an owl, but I'm an impatient man. – D_

_H: Using your guests' info for personal gain? For shame, Draco._

_D: Yes, inviting you to dinner is such an inappropriate use of guest logs. I'm incorrigible._

Harry could practically see the eyeroll through the phone, could hear Draco's sardonic inflection, and it brought butterflies to life in his stomach. Butterflies he pretended not to notice.

_H: Sure, when?_

_D: I have some business in Marseille today so it would have to be late, if you're alright with that. At 9 under the gazebo?_

Draco was inviting him to an outdoor supper. Under the gazebo. At night. Harry was willing to bet there would be candles too unless Draco planned on them squinting in the dark all night, trying to make out the food on their plates. This made it much harder to ignore the romantic tilt of last night, but Harry still managed to complete some impressive mental acrobatics of rationalization. It was the atmosphere of the French countryside. It was simply how people lived out here, soaking up the fresh air, temperate climate, and breathtaking scenery every chance they got. There wouldn’t be much point in living out here and spending the summer indoors, now would there? That was definitely what was going on. Draco hadn't invited him to a romantic, candlelit supper. Not at all.

 

***

 

Harry changed outfits countless times before strolling out to meet Draco under the gazebo, scolding himself in the mirror for acting like this was a date. Draco wasn't going to notice what he was wearing, and since when did he give a shit about pleasing the finicky prat? Eventually, Harry settled on black trousers and a dark blue pinstripe button-down, untucked so he only felt halfway formal, and bid his gait to stay measured instead of galloping to his destination like the giddy man he suddenly was.

The table was beautiful, covered with a thick brocaded fabric that matched the deep garnet hue of the wine aerating in a decanter in the middle. It was littered with mouthwatering dishes with irresistible aromas. Harry noted that there was indeed a set of lit tapers in silver candlesticks strategically placed near the center.

"You didn't have to do all this for my benefit." Harry took a seat across from Draco, hoping that his reddened cheeks weren't visible in the candlelight.

"Nonsense. What good is wealth if you can't be ostentatious every once in a while?" It was a comment Harry would have detested from him in the past, but now, with the yellow glow of the tapers dancing across Draco's high cheekbones as he smiled back at Harry, it took on a whole new connotation. For reasons he wasn't ready to examine, Draco had gone to the trouble of assembling this spread for him, and Harry wasn't about to let it go to waste.

"Well, I appreciate it. It looks amazing. What all do we have?"

"Vegetable cassoulet, a cold summer variation on the French standard, fresh fig and arugula salad with goat cheese and toasted walnuts, and an apricot and basil shortbread tart for dessert." Draco pointed to each dish as he identified it, his slim shoulders accentuated by the light grey waistcoat layered over his white dress shirt. The waistcoat matched his eyes, and Harry didn't think he'd ever looked lovelier. "Sorry to serve it all at once. I know it's decidedly against French custom, but I thought..."

Draco looked unsure of himself, a rarity that Harry hadn't anticipated. Maybe he was wary about this dinner too?

"You thought what?"

"Well… I know you hold a great deal of disdain for special treatment. I thought you might not take well to waiters marching all the way out here precariously balancing plates of food all night."

"Considering where we are, I wouldn't have minded, but it's nice of you to think of me. At least we won't be interrupted now." Harry's blush deepened as he realized the implications of what he had just said, and Draco cleared his throat.

"Yes, well – let me pour you some wine."

Their banter followed a similar trajectory to the previous evening, the conversation getting easier as the wine flowed more freely. Rosamunde and François happened to be out for a stroll. They waved to Harry as they walked past, and Rosamunde gave him a wink and a little laugh as she looked from Draco to the candles and back to Harry.

"What was that about?"

"Friends I made this morning. I think you inspired me to be more social while I'm here."

"Good. Can't have you moping about the vineyard. It's bad for morale."

Harry laughed and watched Draco leaning back, lithe legs crossed, fingers around the stem of a wine glass as he brought it to his lips. Harry started in on the salad, humming with pleasure over the way the sweetness of the fig complemented the bitterness of the arugula.

"I think she might have thought you were romancing me what with the candles and all."

They locked eyes and this time no amount of alcohol allowed Harry to deny the heat that passed between them. Draco's gaze was all fire and smoke, and Harry couldn't look away.

"How mortifying for you," Draco joked, his hand creeping across the tablecloth until it was only inches away from Harry's own.

"Not really," Harry whispered.

They ate in silence for a while, finishing their salads and moving onto the cassoulet. Harry felt Draco’s gaze boring into him, and he waited with bated breath to see if he would break the silence. 

“Having you here reminds of things I’m not supposed to feel, things I’ve never been comfortable feeling, Harry.” Harry reticently looked up. He didn't dare imagine what Draco meant by that. Draco leaned closer until Harry could feel the warm puffs of his breath ghosting across his lips, his intense gaze locking Harry in place. Harry watched Draco's tongue peeking out to moisten his lips, his eyelids drooping to half-mast. Harry leaned in to meet him and then –

" _Excusez-moi_ , Monsieur Malfoy. I thought I might relieve your table of some of these dishes?"

Draco and Harry both snapped back into position so quickly, their chairs rocked a little from the force of it.

"Oh yes yes, thank you, Victor. You didn’t have to do that." Malfoy swept a hand through his blond locks, straightening his spine and avoiding Harry's eyes.

"I'm just going to – um – I'll be right back." Harry got up from the table without even forming a solid excuse, briskly walking until he reached an oak tree a few yards away. He braced his arm against it, panting like he'd just run a marathon, frantically trying to catch his breath and collect the thoughts whizzing through his cluttered brain. If Victor hadn't walked up, would Draco have kissed him? He must be losing his very last marble if he was entertaining the notion that Draco Malfoy was romantically interested in him on any level whatsoever… right?

"Hey."

Harry jumped back as Draco's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry if I..." Draco dropped his hand and looked back toward the gazebo, the patio beyond it lit up by strings of white lights and Chinese lanterns. The lights reflected off the strange evocative shade of grey in Draco's eyes, his pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight, and Harry wanted nothing more than to kiss him breathless. Draco rubbed his eyes with a tired sigh and looked back at Harry, all of his usual swagger and self-assurance nowhere to be found. "I think I may have misread things. I don't want to make you uncom – "

Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry reached up with shaking hands and held Draco's face, his palms covering the soft skin of his cheeks, thumbs stroking along his jaw, and kissed him. Draco responded immediately, crushing Harry's lips with his own, tracing the seam of Harry's mouth with the tip of his tongue until he opened up to invite him in. Their tongues brushed together, slow and tentative at first until the rhythm became more urgent, exploring each other's mouths as though they might never get another chance, dying to taste, lick, _feel_. Harry moaned into Draco's mouth, and the answering whimper made Harry's knees buckle. Draco steadied him, strong, wiry arms threading around his shoulders, eager fingers in Harry's hair grounding him as Draco pushed him against the oak tree. Draco's body was flush against him now, and Harry let out another gasp as he felt Draco's chest push into him, his erection rubbing against Harry's stomach. Draco's lips traveled away from Harry's mouth and down his cheek, his chin, his throat. Harry ran his fingers through Draco's hair, marveling over how silky-soft the strands were, dipping his fingers below the collar of Draco's shirt and wishing they were somewhere else, somewhere they could vanish all their clothes.

"Want you," Draco murmured, hot and commanding in Harry's ear. It made Harry's eyelids flutter, his skin tingle, his breath come out shallow and short, but at the same time, it made him frozen with fear. What happened after this? Harry barely had any experience with men and now he was going to experiment with Draco? That sounded like an explosion waiting to happen, a hazardous, careless risk with potential fallouts that neither of them were prepared to deal with. They were different people now, yes, but this was an absurd leap for them to take. Harry shoved him away, perhaps a little too forcefully judging from the startled look on Draco's face, and walked a couple paces on unsteady legs.

"I have to go. I can't – Draco, I can't – " Harry heard his own voice, and it sounded strained and distorted, like it was being funneled in through a broken speaker.

"Harry, it's okay. We don't have to – "

"I have to go," Harry repeated and bolted away at a breakneck speed, not stopping to look back, not stopping to see what expression of hurt and confusion Draco wore.

When Harry got to his room, he shut the door behind him with a thud, leaning against it and sliding to the floor, eyes closed as he caught his breath. What had he gotten himself into? This trip was supposed to be a simple French country getaway, a place existing _outside_ of the realm of all his problems. Now it seemed he'd only created more. He doubted sleep would come easily that night, but he curled into bed all the same, toeing off his shoes but not bothering to shed his clothes. He felt like an idiot. A helpless, pathetic idiot who got what he wanted and suddenly didn't know what to do with it. How would he ever face Draco again? His birthday was two days away, and he wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

"Happy almost birthday to me, the Boy Who Is A Fucking Disaster," Harry muttered with a groan, burying his head under the covers.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry gave up on sleep around nine the next morning. When he checked his phone, he saw he had a text from Draco. Harry took a deep breath and slid his finger across the screen to open the message.

_D: I'm sorry if you weren't ready for that kiss. If you want to forget it ever happened... well, I won't pretend I'm not disappointed, but don't avoid me like we're fourteen-year-old morons, okay? We're both old enough to know better. We can talk about this like adults. I'll look for you at lunch._    

Harry put the phone down and groggily rubbed his eyes. When had Draco become the more reasonable, sensible one? Harry wanted to take him up on the offer to forget it, to talk about it instead of cowardly ducking into hallways and behind trees for the rest of his trip every time he saw Draco, but his stomach roiled with bile at the thought. He couldn't even think about it right now, let alone actually go through with it.

He always seemed to feel better after a meal, so he got dressed and vowed to reevaluate after a hearty breakfast and enough fortifying coffee to fuel ten men.

 

***

 

After breakfast, Harry still felt like his head and heart were made of lead and fluttering birds were beating their wings against his insides. He decided to take a long walk along the vineyards to unravel his mental debris. He went off in the direction of the pond he'd spotted Draco that first day. It seemed like an ideal spot for contemplation.

Harry lay down on the grass on the left bank of the pond, shading his eyes as he watched the impossibly blue sky above him. He heard footsteps crunching a twig behind him and was all set to whip around and tell them to get lost (he was in no mood for company today) when he saw a familiar English face.

"Hello, Rosamunde."

"Hello there, Harry. Do you mind if I join you or is this pensive alone time?"

"No no, it's fine." Harry sat up and slung his arms around his knees.

"Now, why do I get the feeling you're the sort who is too polite to tell me to leave?" Rosamunde observed with a discerning smile as she sat down next to him, cross-legged in her ankle length wrap skirt. One aspect of Rosamunde that didn't lend itself to a comparison with Hermione was her wardrobe. Her fashion sense was more "easygoing hippie who makes homemade pottery," a style that called to mind the quirky sensibilities of Professor Trelawney.

"I'm not. I promise," Harry said with a weak laugh. "I mean, I _was_ here to be alone, but... I don't know that it'd do me any good right now. Can't be trusted with my own thoughts, I'm afraid."

"Might those thoughts have something to do with a certain gorgeous British man? One with a penchant for wearing waistcoats in summer and not shedding a single drop of sweat?"

"How _does_ he do that?! He looks fantastic in them too..." Harry tossed a stone into the pond and watched it descend with a thick 'plonk.' "How did you know I was thinking about him?"

"Just a feeling. I'm fond of saying I'm witchy. François says I'm nosy, but really it's only that I notice what other people don't. Deeply conflicting feelings were written all over your face at that table last night."

"He and I have a long history. It's complicated."

"Is it? Or are you simply making it complicated so you won't have to face what you're really feeling?" Rosamunde canted her head and gave Harry a scrutinizing glance.

"You sound like Hermione, the friend I told you about. Are you _actually_ her in disguise?" Harry was mostly joking, but honestly, he wouldn't put it past Hermione to take a flask of Polyjuice Potion and alter her voice just to keep an eye on him.

"I think I'd like her. She sounds sharp enough to give me a run for my money."

"She is, and she'd probably tell me exactly what you did. I don't know though... I've recently gotten out of a relationship with a woman I met when we were only kids. I don't know if it's smart to jump into anything with someone like Draco."

"Who says you have to jump into anything serious? You're thinking too far into the future. At our age, it doesn't pay to hold back. We never know how much time we have left. You've obviously spent a lot of time thinking about what regrets you'll have if you take the plunge, but have you considered what regrets you'll have if you _don't_?" Rosamunde picked up a stone and deftly skidded it across the water. It weightlessly skipped three times as though gravity didn't exist. 

"No... I suppose I haven't."

 

***

 

"Hello, Potter." Harry's heart hammered in his chest at the sound of Draco's husky voice over the phone.

"You picked up!"

"Observant as always. What do you want?" The jocular tone of his jibes was gone and replaced by acrimony. Harry knew he deserved it for running off and not contacting him all day, but it still made his chest sting.

"Are you in your rooms right now?" Harry paced about his own bedroom, fiddling with the curtains and bedspread as he walked by.

"It just so happens that I am, yes."

"I know you're probably cross with me for ignoring you all day, but I needed time to think. Can I come to your rooms so we can talk?"

"Are you sure that's the best location for us?" Draco sighed, and it was a weary sound. Harry halted and sat down on the bed.

"I thought some privacy would be good. Please?" Harry heard a noise of indecision on the other end of the line, and Draco went silent. A lump formed in Harry's throat, all his saliva dissipating as he waited for an answer.

"Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes."

 

***

 

“I’m sorry I ran away. I _wanted_ to kiss you. I wanted it so badly.” Harry wrung his hands in his lap, his heart beating out of his chest like he was back in the Triwizard Tournament about to face his first dragon. It took the summoning of all his Gryffindor courage to come here and talk to Draco, but he knew Rosamunde was right. He would regret it if he let the chance slip by, and besides, it was his birthday tomorrow. The thought of spending it morosely pining for Draco instead of being near him was enough motivation to force Harry to face this. 

“You have a funny way of showing it, Potter.” Draco rounded out the syllables of Harry's surname with a tinge of the old disdain as he poured them both a glass of wine.

“It’s hard for me, Draco. And you being _you_ makes matters extra complicated.”

“Yes, god forbid you become attracted to repugnant Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater and childhood bully. Never mind that was decades ago.” Draco braced his hands against the two-tiered glass drink cart, his shoulders hunching as he leaned forward. Harry could see the rise and fall of his every breath through the tense muscles of his back. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to the elbows, and Harry admired the veins and twitching muscles of his forearms, the Dark Mark no longer the pulsating harbinger of doom it once was. Just a faded mistake to the casual observer, like a careless college student getting a tattoo on a drunken dare. He didn’t know if he’d ever been attracted to someone's forearms before.

"I don't see you like that," Harry pleaded.

"Then why did you run away, Harry? Please, enlighten me." Draco whirled around as he handed Harry a glass, remaining standing as Harry sat on the couch, towering over him with an unyielding stance. Harry knew this wasn't going to be an easy conversation. He gathered all his willpower, took a drink, and persisted.

"It’s like you said, we both ignite this uncanny… tension between us that’s always been there. It always happens, only now it's taken on a very different bend. I’m middle-aged, I’ve only been divorced for a little over a year after having been married to the same woman for _decades_ , and I’m finding out I have an attraction to men I totally repressed. And for the pretty cherry on top of the baggage cake, I’m also apparently attracted to my old nemesis who, _yes_ , is a very different person now, but... I wasn't there for anything that happened between the war and now, Draco. I wasn't there for all the ways you've changed. So to go from that to finding out who you've become to being friends to kissing in a matter of days, it's just... a lot to catch up on.” Harry exhaled sharply and hesitantly looked up to see Draco's reaction. He hoped he was using the right words. Eloquence had never been his strong suit.

“Nemesis, eh? Generous of you to say.” Draco’s expression morphed into a sly smile, and Harry's shoulders loosened a bit, his posture no longer coiled into a wire-tight ball.

“Maybe _rival_ is a better word. You were much too ineffective to be a proper nemesis.” Harry smiled, and Draco finally sat down next to him.

“You can still be a very rude prat, Potter.”

“I'm sorry, Draco. I’m going through a lot at once so it’s sort of unavoidable that I’ll be a bit of a clueless shit sometimes. I’m not feeling the most stable right now, but I’ll try my best not to bolt again. In the meantime, I hope you’ll bear with me?” It was such a vulnerable position, Harry asking Draco to not reject him. It brought to mind the way their rivalry had begun: Draco asking Harry for friendship, and Harry refusing to give it.

“I will. I recognize that it _is_ a bit of a deluge, but it hurt to have you turn from hot to cold so fast. Stung me in a familiar way I didn’t particularly like revisiting.” Draco glanced at Harry, and the sincerity Harry saw there made him melt and want to kiss Draco again to rectify last night’s abrupt ending. He wanted to keep on kissing him until Draco laughed and begged for air.

“I know. I really am sorry.”

“I know you are,” Draco assented, his pitch gentle and sweet as he moved closer. "Let's get this out of the way because I think you need to hear it from me, Harry. And I think maybe I need to say it too. I was an entitled, bigoted little arsehole, and I’m sorry. I never apologized to you. I convinced myself that since we'd both moved on, it wasn't necessary, but it is."

"Thank you, Draco. You didn't have to say that, but I'm glad you did. And I'm sorry for sixth year. I... it's one of the worst things I've ever done. I never forgave myself for it." Harry didn’t admit it to anyone, but never making amends after he cursed Draco in that dark bathroom made the incident stick inside him like a heavy stone in his gullet, a blockage that wouldn’t dissolve until he did what he knew was right.

"You were defending yourself. I don't hold that against you, Harry." Draco folded Harry’s hand in his, and Harry was grateful to feel the lightly calloused pads of those fingers again.

"I should have helped you. I should have noticed how much you needed a friend instead of an enemy." Nearly forgotten images of Draco’s crying face appeared in his mind’s eye, clear as the day they had happened.

"That’s just like you.” Draco huffed and squeezed Harry’s hand. “You have quite the guilt complex, Potter. Shouldering the fate of the entire wizarding world wasn’t enough for you? Have to take on the blame for what a nightmare teenager I was too? I wouldn't have listened to you anyway. I wasn't ready to let anyone help."

"I still could have tried." Harry put his wine glass on the coffee table and leaned back against the sofa, letting his head fall against Draco’s shoulder. Draco put his glass down as well and combed his fingers through Harry’s messy hair. He kissed the top of his head, and a little shiver of pleasure rushed through Harry.

"Want to make it up to me?" Draco’s tone was low and sultry, and Harry felt his cock twitching in his jeans.

"I do, but I warn you I'm probably going to be terrible at it."

"Didn't get very far with your bar conquests?"

"Does that make you want to change your mind?" Harry held his breath as he waited for Draco to say he realized he was making a terrible mistake, that he didn’t want an awkward man pushing fifty who had all the sexual experience of a teenager, but the rebuke never came.

"Not at all. I want _you_.” Draco’s hand moved out of Harry’s hair and around his shoulder, pulling him closer. Draco’s lips dragged across Harry’s cheek and over the shell of his ear. “We'll go slow. I’m going to take _such_ good care of you, Harry.”

Nothing had ever sounded quite so filthy to Harry's ears. Somehow it was even more lurid than if he’d been explicit, the sheer implications driving him wild.

“Fuck... why do I feel like you’re going to be the death of me?” Harry lifted his head, and Draco was so close now that Harry could see the little flecks of steely blue in his grey irises. Draco chuckled softly.

“Trust that the feeling is mutual.” Draco lifted Harry’s chin with his forefinger, leaning closer until their lips just barely brushed. It was a touch so minute that Harry would have questioned if he’d felt it at all were it not for the way every inch of his skin was pulsing like a live wire, every atom inside him reaching out for Draco and Draco alone. He licked a short, hot stripe up the middle of Harry’s lips, tongue drawing a line from the bottom lip to the top, and Harry’s mouth fell open on a moan. How could something so brief and subtle be one of the most erotic moments of his life? Draco kissed across his mouth, feathery little caresses of his lips from one corner to the other, and Harry gathered the smooth fabric of Draco’s shirt in his fists, his grip so tight he was half afraid he would rip it in two without even trying. Draco nibbled on Harry’s bottom lip, and he began to think he would spontaneously combust before they could even get beyond kissing. Unable to endure the teasing any longer, Harry crashed their lips together, licking into Draco’s mouth like his life depended on it. He hoped his readiness made up for how messy it was, his overwhelming desire overriding all sense of finesse as he devoured Draco’s warm, beckoning mouth.

“So eager,” Draco whispered with a wanton gleam in his eye. “Bedroom?”

Harry gave a jerky nod, and Draco stood up, pulling Harry with him by the hand.

Draco’s bedroom was as lavish and stylish as the man himself, an immaculate flow from one corner to the next. Harry absently wondered if he’d handpicked all the décor. There was a skillfully carved oak wardrobe in the corner and a mercury glass dome light hanging from the ceiling as a sort of muted chandelier. All the fabrics were corresponding shades of green, the tied back drapes, the quilted down comforter, the rug at the foot of the bed.

They didn’t touch each other for a moment, both of them overcome with the prospect of what was about to occur. Harry felt distinctly virginal, standing there in Draco's bedroom. Although they both knew their purpose for being there, it was as if they wanted to give the moment room to breathe first. Harry chewed on his bottom lip, scanned Draco up and down, and the spell was broken. Draco pushed him onto the bed, wasting no time as he tugged at the hem of Harry’s t-shirt. Harry obeyed, lifting his arms for Draco to pull it off. Draco removed Harry’s glasses, neatly folding them and setting them on the nightstand.

“Can’t believe you came here wearing Gryffindor red,” Draco mocked with a lopsided grin.

“This coming from the man currently pinning me to the Slytherin green comforter.” They both laughed softly, and Draco sat up, straddling Harry’s hips and surveying his now naked chest. He ran his hands through the dark tufts of hair on his pectorals and the thinner trail leading down his stomach.

“I like this,” Draco confessed quietly, mapping the muscles and the soft edges above his hips with reverent hands.

“Like your men hairy?”

Draco tilted his head with a fond yet scolding look, and Harry winced as he realized what he’d said.

“That was most definitely not meant to be a terrible pun.”

“Mmm-hmm, likely story.” Draco untucked his own shirt and pulled it above his head, skipping the bothersome buttons. Harry sighed contentedly as he looked at Draco’s naked torso for the first time.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Harry stroked his palms down Draco’s chest, enjoying the contrast of tanned skin against ivory. He felt a stab of regret as he traced the faint lines of the _Sectumsempra_ scars, mistake-raised flesh of another life, another time. He skated the surface of the Dark Mark and pondered if Draco had ever had to explain it to a Muggle lover. As if sensing what misgivings were flitting through his mind, Draco covered Harry’s hand with his own. Draco was virtually hairless save for a little thatch below his bellybutton leading under the waistband of his trousers. His skin was smooth and lovely, and Harry wanted to memorize every minute detail, the curve of his shoulders, the jut of his collarbone, the stark pink of his nipples standing against the alabaster of his chest.

“Did you expect anything less? You’re not so bad either.” Even though it was reminiscent of Draco's old bravado, it rang hollow. He was doing his best to project confidence, but there was a nervous flicker behind his eyes. Knowing Draco shared some of his unease made Harry feel less alone.

“You conceited prat.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Better than being a perpetually disheveled git.” Draco ruffled Harry’s already-mussed hair, and then the corners of his mouth turned down, his smile vanishing to leave something more contemplative. “You know, we can stop at any time. I don’t want to rush you.”

He was being patient and mindful of Harry's comfort. Those were two qualities he never would have associated with Draco before, but now, after these past few days of leisurely walks and meals and furtive glances, it wasn’t so unexpected.

“How about we rush into you taking your fucking clothes off?” Harry demanded, his voice hazy with lust. He was pleased that the words managed to come out steady.

“Bossy,” Draco chastised but undid the button of his trousers all the same. He rolled off Harry so he could remove them along with his pants, and Harry did the same, his pulse quickening with anticipation. Draco moved to lay beside him, both of them turning inward until they were face to face, and suddenly they were more exposed than they’d ever been before. There was a raw fascination in the way they observed one another’s bodies, as though they were witnessing a rare magical creature in the Forbidden Forest for the first time. Draco’s legs were lithe yet strong, the sculpted thighs of a dancer rounded with the softness of middle age. The pale, fine hair of his calves tickled Harry’s skin as he hooked a leg around the back of Harry’s knees. Harry’s eyes traveled to the spot on Draco’s stomach where his cock lay, a little longer and thicker than his own. There were a couple inches of space between them, but the sight of their cocks so close together like that, Harry’s curved near the end where Draco’s was straight, Draco’s pubic hair a dusting of blond where Harry’s was a thick nest of dark curls, was breathtaking in some significant way he couldn’t quite articulate.

He had only touched the cock of one other man, and it was nothing like this, no tenderness or accommodating reassurances that they could take their time if needed. It was a rushed, unskilled encounter in a stranger’s bed in the dark, and they both had come before Harry could really register what was happening, their drunken hands impatient blurs on one another’s cocks. Afterward, he had felt deeply bereft. Not because it was a man, but because it was so decidedly un-Harry. Anonymous sex wasn’t really his forte, and lying there on the bed of a stranger whose name he couldn’t remember, sweat cooling on his skin as he frantically tried to figure out how to graciously leave as soon as possible, wasn’t a habit he wished to make. Maybe it was silly that he needed to be treated with kid gloves, but everything was so new. The fast and furious pace of hookups didn’t fit his needs. If anyone had told him months ago that Draco Malfoy would be the kind, compliant lover he was looking for, he would have scoffed. But here they were, and Harry couldn’t have been happier about how things had turned out.

“You have a nice cock.” Draco’s fingers worked their way down the planes of Harry’s stomach, rubbing across the little dip under his hipbone, traveling closer and closer until the expectancy was killing Harry so much he could barely breathe.

“What does that mean?” Harry queried, his voice coming out rough with arousal.

“Straight with this perfect little curve on the end, not too big not too small, nice and dripping for me.” Draco swiped the tip of his finger through the bead of precome leaking from Harry’s slit and sucked his finger into his mouth, closing his eyes and letting out the tiniest hum of approval. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen anything hotter. Watching Draco lick the taste of Harry from his fingertip like it was a divine treasure finally snapped him back into action. Harry cupped the side of Draco’s face and kissed him, more slowly and carefully this time, dancing his tongue against Draco’s and paying attention to what made him moan and grip Harry tighter. He kissed along his gorgeous neck, biting the space between his throat and shoulder, nipping along his collarbone and dragging his mouth down until he reached a pebbly nipple. He teased the hard bud with the tip of his tongue, alternating between short licks and gentle scrapes of his teeth before lightly sucking on it, increasing pressure when Draco pulled on Harry’s hair and groaned his name.

Draco pushed Harry on his back again and gave his neck the same attention. Harry’s neck had always been a sensitive spot. One well-placed bite could make him – _Oh fuck._ Harry’s legs involuntarily clamped around Draco’s waist, holding him in place as he sucked a mark at the base of Harry’s neck.

“Fuck, keep doing that. Please kiss my neck. Bite it, lick it, anything, _please_.”

Draco chuckled and dotted his throat with kisses and bites. Harry ground against him, relishing the electric sensation of their hard cocks sliding together and the warm, comforting weight of Draco’s body pressed against his. Harry’s hands cascaded down Draco’s back, massaging the muscles below his shoulder blades, running along the dips and juts of his spine until he reached that cleft below his tailbone, that entrance to a secret place he wasn’t sure he was ready to explore yet. Instead, he moved his hand over a few inches and squeezed Draco’s arse.

Harry was no longer in the mood to wait, his blood beating thickly in his veins, fire rising to the surface of every spot that Draco touched.

“Touch my cock, Draco _please_ ,” Harry begged, pushing up against him to get another taste of that magnificent friction.

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” Draco sucked and nibbled on Harry’s earlobe as he snaked his hand between their bodies, finally grasping Harry’s erection and giving it a firm stroke. Harry gasped and gripped Draco’s sweat-slick shoulders.

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. It’s bloody hot. You can tell me what to do anytime,” Draco groaned, lapping at Harry’s nipple as he tightened his hand, pumping up and down Harry’s cock. Harry tried to watch everything at once, his cock moving in and out of Draco’s hand, Draco’s tongue laving across his nipple, the way his shoulder blades pinched together as he stroked him. He wanted to remember every moment of this.

“A- _any_ time?” Harry gasped out as Draco’s thumb swept across his weeping slit. He meant for it to be a clever joke, but it came out less definitive and more breathy. Frankly, he was surprised he managed to form the word at all. 

“Anytime we’re naked, you smartarse. If you’re still back talking, I must not be doing my job very well.” Draco gave Harry a smile so salacious, it made his whole body light up in flames all over again. He watched with rapt attention as Draco moved further down his body, positioning himself between his legs and taking Harry into his mouth. Harry knew he wouldn’t last long. He was already so feverishly turned on, writhing on the bed as the velvet heat of Draco’s mouth encased half of his cock. Draco held Harry’s hips in place as he bobbed up and down. Harry couldn’t stop running his hands over every part of Draco he could reach, groping, stroking, and pulling his hair. It only seemed to spur him on, making him take Harry deeper and deeper until he was nosing in his curls, moaning and rutting against the bed, every bit as enthralled by this as Harry was himself.

“Can you just... lick me, please. I want to see you do it,” Harry panted out, and Draco obliged, licking along the underside of Harry’s erection and gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes. He was unbelievably perfect, and he was all Harry’s. “Fucking hell, Draco.”

Draco sucked on the head before inching back down his shaft, and Harry couldn’t hold on any longer.

“I’m going to come. Draco, I – ” Draco stopped moving, holding Harry in his mouth as he spilled down his throat, hot and hard and _so fucking good_ Harry bit his hand to keep from shouting. Draco mouthed at his softening cock, licking him clean before crawling back up the bed wearing a Cheshire Cat grin. Harry panted, slinging a forearm over his eyes. He felt serene and untethered from all the shit that had been clogging his mind this week. He lifted his arm and met Draco’s eyes as he curled into Harry’s side, long arm draped across his stomach.

He looked uncertainly at Draco’s cock, standing hard and proud against his hip.

“You don’t have to,” Draco said, sensing his dilemma.

“I _want_ to. I just...” Harry felt like a selfish asshole, but somehow it was so much easier to receive than to give. There was less of an internal monologue of anxiety. Though in some ways it was easier to be with Draco, someone he knew and trusted now, than it was to mess about with a stranger in the dark, it was also harder. Touching Draco meant so much more, and while he loved that, he also feared it. He feared the missteps, the disappointment he might be to Draco, and the way he might feel afterward. What if Harry got scared again and ran? What if he wasn’t as ready to accept this part of himself as he thought?

“I know. It’s okay. It’s hard in the beginning.” Draco kissed his cheek and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, and Harry wondered if Draco would share his awkward first experiences if asked.

“I want you to come. Can I… can I watch you?” Harry blushed at the admission, his boldness of a few minutes ago gone now that he had come down from his post-orgasmic high.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Draco murmured into Harry’s neck. He settled onto his back and took his cock in hand, giving it long, leisurely strokes. His breath hitched as he twisted his wrist on the upstroke, his pale cheeks rosy, his parted lips reddened from use. He fondled his balls with careful hands, stroking the tender, milky skin of his inner thighs and the golden hair at the base of his cock. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off him. Draco bit his bottom lip, his eyes misty with lust, and Harry _needed_ to kiss him. He tilted Draco’s face toward him and sealed their mouths.

Once he started, he couldn’t stop. He was consumed with the need to join their bodies at every possible point of contact while Draco wanked off in front of him, his pace growing more frantic. Harry scraped his teeth over the pulse point of Draco’s neck. He sucked on those pert nipples he couldn’t get enough of and dragged his hand down to Draco’s parted thighs, resting on the supple flesh so he could feel the ripples of motion from Draco’s pumping fist. Draco’s balls were quivering from the force of his strokes, and they bumped against Harry’s hand, the soft hair brushing his knuckles. Just that skimming touch made Harry moan. Draco responded with a high keening sound that nearly broke him.

He wanted more. Even if he was terrified of that deep yearning, he wanted to satisfy it. Harry took a deep breath and covered Draco’s hand with his palm, fingers layered on top of fingers. Draco’s motion halted. He looked at Harry, a hesitancy in his wide eyes, and Harry squeezed Draco’s hand. He was so close to his cock, and while the reality of it scorched Harry to his very core, it wasn’t nearly enough. Harry carefully pried Draco’s middle and forefinger away until Draco got the hint and lifted his hand entirely, surrendering his cock to Harry. Harry explored his swollen erection with curiosity, testing the weight of it in his hand, tracing the ridges and veins with purposeful fingertips, drawing a circle around the head. When he lifted his eyes, he saw that Draco was watching him intently, his breath coming out in quick, shallow puffs of air, almost like he was holding back, unsure if it was safe to breathe. Harry looked back down at Draco’s prick and wrapped his hand securely around it, moving up and down a few times, reveling in how Draco’s head sank back against the pillow and his reserved breaths turned to gasps.

“That’s good. You’re doing so well, Harry,” Draco moaned appreciatively, pushing his fingers through Harry’s hair and rubbing his thumb along his temple. Harry’s cheeks colored from the praise, and although he was still feeling shy about venturing down too many new roads, something about Draco’s approval was intoxicating. He chased it like a powerful, promised high and bent down to lick across the head.

Draco shivered beneath him, and Harry felt it in his bones. He wanted to make him do it again so he licked him from root to tip, feeling arousal building in his balls, the telltale ache that let him know he’d be hard again if he kept on licking Draco and listening to those melodious moans. He sucked the head into his mouth to see if Draco liked that. Draco tightened his fingers in Harry’s hair, tugging hard at the root.

“Fuck, that feels so good.” It wasn’t as though Harry had never heard Draco curse. Far from it, in fact. He could be a very foul-mouthed sort when he was in a mood, but something about hearing Draco’s posh drawl swearing at the way Harry’s mouth was caressing him was unbearably arousing. He took more into his mouth, shielding his teeth with his lips, sliding down the length a few inches and back up again. He did it over and over, taking in a little more each time until he felt the thickening of his own cock between his legs. Harry was totally immersed in the sensation of Draco’s prick pushing against his tongue and the roof of his mouth, moaning around the hard length and wishing that he could feel this and only this forever.

“ _Yes yes_ , keep doing that. You’re being so good for me, Harry. _So good_ ,” Draco purred, and Harry experienced more of that tantalizing line of embarrassment and pleasure that kept him craving Draco’s praise. Harry kept sucking Draco’s cock, holding it in place with one hand and reaching the other up to twine their fingers. Draco squeezed his hand so hard it began to hurt, his stomach going taut, his back arching, thighs tensing. Harry knew he was close even before he breathily cried _oh fuck I’m going to come Harry I’m going to come._

Harry pulled back, unsure if he was ready to taste him, opting instead to stroke him through it, watching his cock pulse and jerk in his hand, Draco’s come hot and sticky on his skin. It was altogether way more exciting than Harry thought it would be. It had never been a particularly riveting sight before, but right then it was _everything_. He regretted not watching Draco’s face, but he looked up in time to catch a glimpse of his slack mouth and screwed up eyes just before his features adapted into sated peace, his hair fanned out on the pillow, breath slowing down.

“Let it never be said that you lose your Gryffindor courage in the bedroom.” Draco smiled and pulled Harry to him. “You like it when I tell you how good you’re being.”

“I do. I like it a lot, actually.” Harry suspected it had something to do with the fact that it was Draco and his smoky, alluring voice. It wasn’t a predilection that had emerged with anyone else. He felt like tepid honey in Draco’s arms, loose and fluid.

“Praise kink but loves to boss me around. You’re very versatile, Potter. We’re going to have fun with that, provided you don’t have another existential crisis.”

“I don’t think I will. You have to admit it’s weird though.” Harry smiled against Draco’s skin, nuzzling in his neck.

“It is,” Draco relented, “But it’s the most superb kind of weird imaginable. Harry Potter just sucked my cock… what would the people say?”

They both laughed softly, Draco’s hand stroking down the length of Harry’s arm, their legs entwined.

“And I liked it… fuck, I liked it so much.”

“I wonder what else you might like,” Draco purred, kissing Harry’s temple.

“I don’t know, but I bet you’d be willing to help me figure it out,” Harry lifted his head and smiled conspiratorially. Draco returned it at first, but then his features wilted abruptly, his eyes faraway.

“I used to want you like this. When we were kids. And for a little while after, I think.” Draco threw his forearm over his eyes, his head crashing back onto the pillow. “Merlin’s beard, why do I _tell_ you these things?! That first walk we took, I convinced myself it was to gain your trust, then the next time I blamed it on the wine, but clearly it’s become a pathological penchant from which there is no escape.”

“I like that you’re open with me.” Harry petted Draco’s hair and kissed his shoulder. He tried not to think too hard about what Draco was saying lest he launch into a barrage of questions he was sure his lover didn’t need to hear right now. Now was the time for basking in the afterglow, not fencing back and forth with useless "what ifs".   

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Draco sighed wearily.

“Come on, has it really been all that bad? Us getting to know each other in a real way? No stupid, childish bullshit standing between us anymore?”

Draco lifted his arm and looked at Harry more shyly than usual.

“It hasn’t been bad. It’s been the very opposite of bad, but I still think I could have done without telling you that.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. Figuring out what wouldn’t upset Draco in this situation was a delicate task, and too much rehashing of old events could lead to regression. Harry didn't want either of them to fixate on things that didn't matter so much anymore.

“Go on, Harry.”

“Go on what?”

“Ask whatever you’re dying to ask that will surely plummet me into further humiliation.” Draco’s eyes shuttered closed with a sigh.

“I won’t ask if it’s going to make you feel humiliated. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Draco opened his eyes and evaluated him.

“You are an annoyingly good man, Harry. Do you know that?”

“I’m not all that great,” Harry responded bashfully, burying his face in Draco’s chest again. A hush fell over the room as they listened to one another breathe, hands languidly stroking skin, the urgency of a few minutes ago replaced by tenderness.

“I don’t know when it started, only when it blossomed into something that became impossible to ignore.” Harry felt the reverberations of Draco’s voice through his cheek, but he didn’t look up, didn’t speak, too afraid to discourage him from continuing. “And then I met Astoria, and I fell in love, and I didn’t think about you anymore. But I don’t know… after seeing you here unexpectedly… alone and wearing that look like you were yearning for something you couldn’t have, couldn’t define... I recognized that look. I _knew_ that look, and I wanted you again. I wanted to be the one to give you what you were searching for.”

Draco’s voice trailed off in a clandestine whisper, the imparting of some sacred truth he didn’t think he would ever give voice to, and Harry’s heart beat out of his chest with gratitude. Suddenly all the taunts of the past seemed less like mindless cruelty and more like posturing meant to conceal a vulnerability Draco daren’t let anyone see. A boy with so very many secrets and no one to safely tell them to. He didn’t know how to verbalize the sheer volume of significant thoughts racing through his mind, so he kissed him. He kissed him as hard and as hungrily as he could.

“I’m glad it’s you. I’m so glad it’s you, Draco,” He repeated between kisses until the skeptical creases of Draco’s forehead softened into smiling belief.


	5. Chapter 5

“Happy birthday, Harry.” Draco walked into the bedroom, shirtless and beautiful, his body framed by the mid-morning sun like a fuzzy yellow halo. He was carrying a tray which he gingerly deposited on the lap of a sleepy Harry.

“You brought me breakfast in bed?” Harry sat up, beaming at him and practically salivating as the scent of several delectable dishes wafted into his nose.

“Yes, but I can only claim a small portion of the credit. This is all the product of Blaise going absolutely nutters when I asked him to make you something special. Can barely fit it all on the tray.”

“Oh my god!” Harry cried out as he looked at the Nutella stuffed French toast, Quiche Lorraine, chicken sausages with apricot-rosemary glaze, and fresh peach and apricot slices riddling the plates. There was also coffee and fresh squeezed apricot juice.

“He has a tendency to go overboard. Kitchen ambition problems.” Draco slid in next to Harry and plucked a peach slice off one of the plates.

“A delicious problem to have.” Harry sliced off a bit of French toast and groaned as the chocolatey hazelnut flavor hit his tongue.

“Must you always be so _verbal_ when you eat? It’s borderline pornographic.” Draco nudged Harry’s thigh with his foot.

“Only when it’s this mind-blowingly good. So um… what are you up to today?” Harry tried to sound as casual as possible and not as needy for Draco’s company as he definitely was.

“Oooohhh, let’s see, let’s see,” Draco tapped his chin in faux contemplation, “I _feel_ like there was something important going on today, but I can’t for the life of me remember _what_ it was.”

“You obnoxious arse.” Harry shook his head and bit into a sausage.

“Well, if you’re amenable to it, I thought perhaps we might go to Marseille. I may have possibly planned a few stops for us.” Now that it was Draco’s turn to try to sound offhand, he was failing miserably. It was obvious Draco had planned a special day for the two of them, and there was no backpedaling out of that.

“You made plans for my birthday.” Harry shot him a smug look, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, I might have given it a bit of thought. Don’t let it go to your head, Potter.” Draco sat up, leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder, and grabbed another peach slice. Harry couldn’t tamp down his ear-to-ear grin.

 

***

 

Although it took a somewhat challenging hour-long hike to reach, the Calanque de Port-Pin beach was a vision Harry wouldn’t soon forget. He had vehemently protested the whole way (“How is this a birthday activity for a fifty year old?”) as Draco admonished him (“You’re a bloody fit fifty year old. You’ll be fine. This is a ‘have your vegetables before dessert’ kind of thing. I promise it’s worth it.”). But now, with the idyllic scene displayed before him, he had to concede it was worth the vigorous exercise. Harry had never seen water so blue. It was an ethereal combination of turquoise and aquamarine that was dazzling. The white, craggy cliffs surrounding it were gorgeous too, and the beach was tucked away like a secret, a little oasis nature had deposited at the edge of a rocky path so that only those brave and tenacious enough to traverse it would be rewarded with this heavenly view.

“I told you.” Draco’s lips quirked up as he observed Harry taking it all in for the first time, soaking in the devastating beauty of it. He tapped Harry’s hip. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.”

They disrobed down to their trunks, and the two of them jogged across the white sand into the water. It was refreshing after the hike, the cool liquid lapping at their perspiring skin. The beach was full but not crowded, young lovers and families with laughing children peppering the sandy surface. Draco dunked himself fully, emerging with slicked-back wet hair that reminded Harry of the way he wore it when he was younger. They raced to the cliffs on the left like giddy children, splashing each other at the end and lazily floating on their backs, gazing up at the spotless sky.

They spent an hour or so in the water before finding a semi-shaded spot to lie on the beach. The lull of the gentle waves crashing onto the sand soothed Harry as the sun wicked away ocean droplets from his skin. Harry wished he had a camera so he could capture the unlikely sight of Draco Malfoy lying on a towel with hair matted to his forehead and sand clinging to his wet ankles, but then he remembered he had his phone.

“What are you doing? Oh, Potter, no! I look a mess right now.” Draco crossed his arms over his eyes to ward him off.

“You look amazing. It’s my birthday, and I want to remember you like this.”

“Fine, but if I have to be documented in this state, so do you.” Draco grabbed the phone and pulled Harry back down so they were lying side by side. He raised it overhead, and they smiled, heads tilted together, sun-warmed and beatific. “There, you sentimental old fool.”

Draco handed the phone back, emitting a sigh of protest that Harry knew was totally insincere. Draco was a sentimental fool too, and Harry knew that for sure now.

“Thank you for taking me here.”

“You’re welcome, Harry. I’m glad you came.” Harry knew he wasn’t just talking about the beach. Unable to resist the impulse, Harry leaned over and kissed him. They heard children hooting and making silly “oooohhh”s behind them, and they both chuckled.

“ _Monsieur il t'aime!_ ” One of them playfully shouted.

“Well, you know what they say, Draco. When you’ve been embarrassed by small children, it’s time to go.”

“Quite right, Potter.” Draco laughed and sat up, gathering their things. “Besides, it’s about time for stop number two.”

 

***

 

They ambled down the streets of Le Panier, the "Old Town" district of Marseille, and Draco filled Harry in on the history of it.

"It's quite ancient, first settled by the Greeks in 600 BC. It's mind-boggling to think about. This place has been in flux for so long, it's seen so much, _become_ so many different things. You walk down these streets, all weathered brick and cobblestone, and it's like they vibrate with the reality of that. They _feel_ like they're a part of something older than us and something that will live on past us." Draco became a different person when he waxed poetic about the things he loved. He didn't hide behind sarcastic humor and witticisms, just pure, unadulterated glee written in the crinkle of his eyes and the curve of his mouth. Not that Harry didn't love the snarky parts of Draco too. He was delightfully funny and clever, but it was nice to see how multi-faceted he was. It made it more apparent that he was human and complex and made Harry regret not having learned so sooner. Draco shot Harry a dubious look. "I'm being a bore, aren't I? I should leave the history lessons to the guided tours."

"No, you're not! I could listen to you talk all day. It's like when you talk about wine; your whole face lights up. It's captivating to watch." They stopped in front of Église Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, the massive Roman Catholic church, imposing yet enthralling with its impossibly high spires and pointed stone archways. "Tell me about this. When was it built?"

"A bit young for the area. Completed in 1886, but they erected it on a spot that has contained places of worship for much, much longer than that. They demolished a chapel of Reformed Augustinians to make way for it. That’s how it earned the nickname 'Les Réformés.'"

Draco told him about how La Canebière was opened by Louis XIV and used to be the Champs-Elysées of Marseille. He told him of Café Turc and of what was destroyed in each of the World Wars, and Harry realized that this was all Muggle history. Draco Malfoy was teaching him Muggle history, rattling off facts that Harry himself would have never known. What a difference time made. It marched through us all and left behind its mark whether or not we stopped to take note. By the time they got to Vinoneo, a charming bistro with an outdoor patio, Harry had worked up an appetite. Between the hiking, swimming, and walking about Le Panier, it had been an active day. They sat down at one of the patio tables, and a waiter brought them water and menus. 

"Draco, I have to confess that I cannot read or speak a word of French," Harry admitted as he opened his menu. "Well, maybe a word or two. I know that's cheese, and that's beef."

"I had an inkling that might be the case. Here, let me tell you – "

"Actually, can you order for me? I trust you, and I like surprises." Harry shrugged sheepishly, and Draco smiled warmly.

It was a wise decision as it afforded him the opportunity to hear words like "tartare de bœuf à l’italienne coupé au couteau" roll off Draco's tongue in an impeccable French accent.

"I have another confession. Even if I did speak French, I'd still make you order just so I could hear that sexy voice."

"If you want me to speak French, all you have to do is ask, Potter. I will happily indulge you." Draco looked at Harry like he wanted to devour him, and when their first courses arrived (zucchini flowers stuffed with ricotta and razor shell clams with garlic and parsley), food was the last thing on Harry's mind. "Have I told you I like you with a beard?"

"No, you haven't." Harry grinned and sliced off a piece of zucchini.

"It suits you."

"Ginny always hated it. How scratchy it was." They exchanged hesitant glances. “I shouldn't have said that."

"No, I don't mind. It just... it makes me want to ask about why you split, and I don't want to put a damper on your birthday by delving into a sensitive subject." Draco deftly scooped the inside of a razor shell with the tiny shellfish fork and took a bite. “Unless you don’t mind.”

"There's not much to tell, really. There was no big turning point. I wish I could conveniently point to some earth-shattering event, but it was a gradual thing. We grew apart; no one woke up one day and didn’t love the other. Just a sad but very common story I suppose. It wasn't even..." The waiter exchanged their appetizer plates for the main entrees, and Harry paused mid-sentence as they both politely thanked him. Draco had ordered the lamb shank confit with rosemary, turnips and glazed carrots for Harry, and it did not disappoint. Everything was tender and flavorful, simple yet well-crafted.

"It wasn't even tragic in a way. I mean, yes, I was upset because it's always a terrible, crazy thing when you're used to being an 'us' for so long and suddenly you're not anymore. I hated the fucking media circus and the lawyers and the constant explaining of the situation to every nosy busybody. But it was _time_ , and we were both ready for it. I do miss her, but in the way I would miss a dear old friend. I hope we can be back in each other's lives again in that way… someday.”

Draco reached out to hold Harry's hand, and Harry laced their fingers together, stroking his thumb across Draco’s palm.

"You will. You're famous for a myriad of things, but one of them is being a very loyal friend. She'd be an idiot not to take advantage of that." On a whim, Harry lifted Draco's hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles, pleased when Draco smiled at the gesture. Harry looked out onto the sunny brick street teeming with tourists and natives alike, the ancient architecture surrounding them, and his life felt full again for the first time in months. He had Draco, delectable food and a gorgeous region of France he'd only begun to explore. His heart sank as he realized it would all be over in less than forty-eight hours.

_Trust you to rain on your own parade, Harry. Can't you be content for more than five minutes at a time?_

"What's wrong?" Draco frowned at him, and Harry wished that for once in his life, his face wouldn’t betray his feelings without his consent.

"I was dreading this trip. I spent the first couple days in this head fog I couldn't punch my way through, downtrodden and preoccupied, and now... it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time." Harry wanted to ask if he could stay, wanted to tell Draco he didn’t want to leave, but his courage shrank away. Everything was going so well, and it wasn’t a bubble he wanted to burst. Maybe the crux of why Draco had been so open with him was the time limit on their relationship. Perhaps it was easier to be vulnerable when he knew Harry was leaving in a matter of days. He didn’t want to make Draco feel trapped by suggesting he extend his stay. What if that was the last thing he wanted to hear? “Is this our final stop or do you have anything else up your sleeve for the night?”

"I have another present for you, but I can’t give it to you here.” Draco leaned in across the table, wedging his knee between Harry's legs and lowering his voice to a sultry whisper. Harry shuddered, searing heat washing over him. "Of course there are always more things to see in Marseille if you – ”

"Draco, let’s get the hell out of here. You’re wearing far too many clothes."

 

***

 

Thank Merlin for Apparition. They had barely landed in Draco’s suite before they were on each other, lips and limbs locked together, clutching each other like drowning men gasping for air.

“Since you’re the birthday boy, what do you want?” Draco breathily asked as they broke the kiss, Draco’s back pressed against the wall and Harry situated between his legs.

“I don’t care. Whatever you want. I just want to make you feel good.” Harry lapped at Draco’s neck, and he stretched his throat with a soft moan. “Want to feel you come again.”

“God, you’re fucking marvelous. Has anyone ever rimmed you?” 

“No.”

“No?! In fifty years?!” Draco held Harry’s face between his hands and speared him with a comically intense look of concern.

“I know, Draco. No need to remind me of how wretchedly unadventurous my sex life has been.”

“Sorry, but with this perfect arse,” Draco squeezed it in both hands to make his point, “that’s a fucking travesty. Ginny has _seen_ this arse, right? You’d have to blind not to want to grab it and shove your face – ”

“Okay okay, can we stop talking about my neglected arse and the woman who neglected it?” Harry adored the way Draco was doting on his body and couldn’t wait to feel his tongue pressing against that untouched part of him, but talking about Ginny wasn’t exactly the best foreplay.

“You’re absolutely right, Potter. The time for talking has passed. Fuck, I want to rim you outside, can I do that? Lay you down in the lavender fields and fuck you with my tongue until you’re soaking wet and grinding back on my face for more. You’d look so gorgeous in the sunlight just begging me for it.” Draco nipped at Harry’s earlobe and bucked his hips against him. Harry’s cock thickened in record time.

“Merlin help me, Draco, if you don’t take us there right goddamn now…” Harry’s eyes rolled back into his head as Draco bit the left side of his neck.

“So demanding,” Draco practically growled. “Just a minute.”

He went to collect a blanket and lube, and Harry was left to adjust his ever-constricting trousers in the living room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this eager for sex. Being with Draco was like being jolted back to life after a coma, all the long-forgotten urges flooding in with renewed avidity. Draco came back with a self-satisfied smirk and offered Harry his arm.

 

***

 

They landed in the lavender fields, and Harry glanced around nervously as he remembered that it was daylight and while the vineyard grounds weren’t _public_ exactly, they weren’t completely private either. He breathed easily again only a few moments later as he saw that Draco had already given that obstacle proper thought. He pulled out his wand and began to set up the appropriate concealment and silencing charms, and Harry felt a little thrill run through him as he watched Draco’s effortlessly skilled magic at work. If anyone stumbled upon them, they wouldn’t be able to see or hear them. However, Draco and Harry would be able to freely observe any passersby. That knowledge gave Harry pinpricks of excitement along the back of his neck, like they were teenagers scheming to get away with something, like they were in danger of being found out. It only added to the adventure instead of deterring him.

Draco laid the plush blanket down between two rows of lavender and performed a cushioning charm. Harry smiled at the evidence of Draco worrying about his comfort. All the necessary preparation completed for now, Draco turned his attention back to Harry, enveloping him in his arms and covering his face with kisses.

“Is this okay? If this isn’t what you want, we can always – ”

“I want it,” Harry cut him off with a determined tone and began undressing. Draco did the same, watching Harry with greedy eyes as they revealed their bodies to one another. The sight was still so new and being in full sunlight provided them an excellent opportunity to drink in every nuance. The stories of their lives were scrawled across the canvas of their skin, scars and aberrations in luminous detail, crosshatches of tissue formed over places that didn’t heal correctly and trauma hidden beneath knots of muscle waiting to be unfurled. Draco drew a long line down Harry’s torso with the fingertips of his right hand, worshipful and thorough in a way that stole Harry’s breath.

“Get on your hands and knees for me.”

Harry nodded, a trancelike movement, and settled onto the blanket, the cushioning charms softly cradling his knees. He carefully placed his glasses a foot or so in front of the blanket. A cleaning charm tingled over the puckered surface of his entrance, and Harry spread his legs a little, trying to tame the anxiety stirring inside him. Although he wanted this, it was an intimate act he’d never shared with anyone before. There was a poignant sense of crossing into uncharted territory, a taboo he wouldn’t have dared to ask for.

“Do you know how perfect you look right now? Surrounded by all this natural beauty, yet you’re still the most interesting thing to look at.” Draco kissed up Harry’s spine, nosing into the crook of his neck.

“Stop it,” Harry whispered, blushing uncontrollably.

“I will not. Someone needs to tell you how beautiful you are. Over and over again until you believe it.” He never imagined Draco being this charismatic. The closer they inched toward Harry's departure, the more all bets were off, layers of defense shed like a snake's skin to reveal raw, unbidden truths.

Harry turned his head, slotting their mouths together as best as he could from this angle. It was sloppy but passionate, the warmth of Draco’s body seeping into him as he draped himself over Harry’s back, the sun heating their naked skin.

Draco withdrew, and Harry couldn’t see him, the anticipation building solely through the sensation of touch as Draco massaged his arse, depositing a few tender kisses on his cheeks before gingerly prying them apart and licking the first stripe across his entrance. It was wet and tentative, almost a tickling sensation. Draco flattened his tongue and made a few broader, firmer licks that drew a muted moan from Harry’s throat. He lapped at the furled skin more rapidly, coaxing it open with the tip of his tongue, and nerve-igniting pleasure coursed through Harry, traveling to his cock and the very center of him, everything alight and buzzing. He spread his legs wider, his moans louder as Draco sealed his lips and sucked on his entrance, tracing the rim with a circular motion that made Harry collapse from his hands onto his forearms. The things Draco could do with his tongue made Harry dizzy, his body a tightly wound string Draco knew exactly how to pluck.

“Draco,” Harry breathed his name and ground back onto his face just as Draco had predicted, chasing more of that wickedly clever tongue. Draco groaned in response and redoubled his efforts, breaching Harry with the tip of his tongue and massaging him from the inside, making him wetter and looser with every stroke. As Draco continued to lick at his entrance more feverishly, the sounds of it grew more obscene, wet flesh laving over wet flesh. Picturing sophisticated Draco, the man who wore a bespoke waistcoat like he was born swaddled in it, crouched behind Harry on the ground groaning and sucking at the most private part of him as though he would never get enough of it, as though he was positively _dying_ for it, was irresistibly erotic. Harry’s senses were overloaded, the sweet scent of lavender in the air, the plants tickling his arms and legs in the cool breeze, and Draco’s hands and mouth claiming him for their own. It was all too much and not enough. He wanted Draco inside him, wanted to fuse and cling until the rest of the world faded around them, until all that remained was their writhing bodies consuming one another. “Draco, I want you to fuck me. _Please_ , I need to feel you.”

There was a pause, no sound in the air except the stillness of the countryside, the whistle of the wind through the trees as Draco’s tongue halted all movement.

“Harry… are you sure you want that? With me?”

Harry swiveled his head to meet Draco's questioning eyes.

"Of course I want it with you. Why wouldn't I?" Harry couldn't imagine a better person to give him this sexual first, and here in the lavender fields in Provence... how could any situation be more tailor-made?

"I don't know... Has anyone even fingered you?" Draco was still frowning skeptically, and Harry wanted to chase away his doubts.

"No..." Harry shifted until he was sitting cross-legged facing Draco. "I have a little myself but not much."

"It takes a lot of prep... it's not that easy to just jump into it."

"So prep me. We have time. Don't you want to?" Harry's voice grew smaller as he thought perhaps that was the problem. Maybe Draco didn't really want to be entrusted with this responsibility.

"Yes. So much. Trust me, that's not the problem at all." Draco scooted closer and clasped Harry's hand. "I want to make sure you really want this though. It's not going to perfect and pain-free. First times never are."

"I know, but you'll take good care of me, won't you?" Harry pushed an errant blond strand out of Draco's eye, and finally the corners of his mouth softened.

"Always." They smiled at each other, and a current of anticipation whipped through Harry. He nearly chuckled at the reality of this. Draco giving him this very significant first after all this time. "Lie on your back."

Draco retrieved the small tube of lubricant from where it lay next to their abandoned clothes.

"Why did you bring that if you didn't think I was ready for this?"

"There are other uses for lube, Harry, but if I'm being honest, I assumed this might happen... just the other way around." Draco offered him a brief smile before he kneeled between Harry's legs, gently folding them over his shoulders.

"Oh..." Harry's whole body filled with heat as he envisioned Draco beneath him, Harry's cock buried in that tight passage as they moved together. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Harry wished they had more time together. Time to do everything he wanted. Draco coated his forefinger in the sticky substance and gave Harry a reassuring look as his finger disappeared between his arsecheeks.

"Tell me if it hurts or you want me to stop, okay?" His voice was a soothing and melodious rumble, and Harry's muscles relaxed as he felt the pad of Draco's finger rubbing slow circles across his rim. Just when Harry began to grow impatient, Draco pushed inside a careful inch or two. Harry sighed contentedly, the welcome intrusion sending sparks through his nerve-endings, subtle for now, but still pleasurable. Draco kissed the inside of Harry's left knee and thigh and pumped his finger in and out, gradually thrusting in deeper each time. Harry's body was melting into the movement, and he moaned as the sparks went from subtle to _yes, right there_. Draco's finger was buried deep enough to graze Harry's prostate now, and the sensation made Harry throw his head back with a moan. He could practically feel the smile on Draco's face when he hit that spot inside him. He withdrew his finger, and Harry whimpered a bit pathetically, causing Draco to laugh.

"Don't worry. I'll be back." Draco coated two fingers and returned as promised, stroking across the tight ring of muscle again before thrusting inside. It was less comfortable than one finger but not painful. Just a dull ache that paled in comparison to how good it felt when Draco worked his fingers in far enough to reach that spot again. Harry's back arched off the blanket and he gripped the wrist of Draco's free arm, pulling it toward him so he could suck two of Draco's fingers into his mouth, gasping as he licked across them.

"Bloody hell, Harry, you're so..." Harry's insistent tugging had propelled Draco forward until he was hovering over Harry's chest. The rhythm of his movement inside Harry's arse stuttered, Draco too distracted by the enthralling sight of Harry sucking ecstatically on his fingers. "Look at how very good you're being for me. So patient while I open you up, but I bet you won't be for long, will you? You'll buck back and demand what you want, won't you?"

" _Yes,"_ Harry released Draco's fingers from his mouth with a wet pop and claimed his lips in a rapacious kiss, plundering his mouth with an insistent tongue intent on owning, professing a deep-seated need that only seemed to flourish more with every passing second, "God Draco, do you know how fucking much I want you?"

Draco moaned as he sucked a bruise onto Harry's neck, his fingers pumping furiously now, scissoring inside of him, making him ready for Draco's cock. Draco was panting against him, impatient little thrusts of his hips bumping against the backs of Harry's thighs.

"D-do you want a third finger or..." Draco trailed off breathlessly, and Harry grinned at the overwhelming delight of seeing Draco reduced to a stammering mess, so fueled by his desire for Harry that complete sentences were impossible to deliver. 

"No, I want you. Please, I want you _now_." Harry mouthed at Draco's ear and neck, grinding back onto his fingers in a plea for more.

"Okay, I..." Draco sat upright, carefully withdrew his fingers, and looked around frantically for his wand.

"Protection spells," he muttered by way of explanation when Harry gave him a puzzled glance. He said the necessary incantations and then looked down at Harry reverently, like his very existence was flabbergasting and precious, something he wanted to bottle and hold dearly. "Are you ready?"

Harry nodded and stroked Draco's cheek. Draco kissed his palm and placed Harry's legs over his shoulders once again. He lined up his cock and breached him slowly, only the head of his cock inside at first, looking back to Harry's face to make sure he was okay. Harry nodded, taking measured breaths around the new thickness. It burned a little, Draco's cock much wider than two fingers, but he still craved that fullness, wanted to adjust and accept Draco inside him. Draco made shallow, careful thrusts, rocking into him until he was fully seated within Harry. Harry's cock had flagged a little from the distracting burn, but the expression of pure bliss on Draco's face as he watched his prick gradually disappear into Harry's damp heat was enough to bring it back to full attention, relief washing over him as the ache began to subside.

Draco leaned forward, Harry's legs slipping off his shoulders as he caged Harry's chest with his forearms. Harry wrapped his legs around Draco's waist and grasped his sun-warmed shoulders.

"Are you okay?" Draco tenderly kissed Harry and watched his face for any signs of pain.

"It hurts a little, but I'm fine. Please keep going." Harry knew if Draco's fingers could cause him that much toe-curling rapture, his cock could do much more if they kept going, keeping the pace careful until he got used to it. Draco complied, moving in and out unhurriedly, delicious little gasps pouring from his mouth as he kissed Harry's lips and neck, his arms reaching underneath him to hold Harry's shoulders. "Will you... talk to me? I feel better when you do."

"You feel amazing, Harry. Warm and tight, pulling me inside and clinging to me. So good for me, so hungry for me. Merlin, you letting me fuck you like this... just you and me out here... it's everything I've ever wanted. I don't want you to – " Draco rasped, his voice growing tight and strained. Harry felt so liquid and pliable beneath him, the ache receding with every thrust and leaving pure pleasure in its wake. Harry didn't know what Draco had stopped himself from saying, but in his hopeful mind, he heard a resounding _I don't want you to leave._ He clutched Draco tighter and bruised his lips with endless kisses. "Does it feel good? Am I hurting you? I don't want – "

"It's good. It's _so_ good. Don't you dare fucking stop." Harry pinned him with needy eyes, and it seemed to ignite a thread of desire within Draco. He picked up the pace, angling his hips to find Harry's prostate, his moans matching Harry's when he succeeded, the head of his cock dragging across it with every drive of his hips now. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, erratic moans, and grunts of effort filled Harry's ears as Draco fucked into him, Harry's balls drawing up tight with his impending climax. He grabbed Draco's hand and wrapped it around his cock. "Make me come please _please_ make me come, Draco."

Draco fisted Harry's prick, his eyes hazy, both of them lost in the rhythms of his thrusts inside Harry and Harry's cock inside his hand. He held Harry tightly, his frenzied hand coaxing him closer to orgasm between their sweat-sheened bodies.

"Fuck, I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you come. You look so beautiful when you come, Harry," Draco murmured in his ear, his lips and tongue brushing Harry's skin with every enunciation. Harry's back bowed off the ground, his muscles clenching around Draco's cock as he finally came, overcome with the new sensation of climaxing while Draco still pounded into him, so gloriously full and stretched. Draco let out a long, unrestrained moan as he felt Harry's arse tighten around him. He kept thrusting until he came a few moments later, cursing and gasping Harry's name as his body went boneless. They lay in each other's arms, panting and sated, the sun beginning to dim behind the trees, those orange and pink hues Harry had grown to love making their first appearance of the evening. "Oh fuck... I can't... that's the extent of my command of the English language right now."

"Me too," Harry agreed with a chuckle. "God, you fucked me so good."

"Mmm, don't say things like that or I'll want to do it again."

"I see nothing wrong with that." Harry smiled, his eyes drifting closed.

"The problem is that I'm not twenty anymore. I need a little more time before I can do that again."

"And after that?" Harry asked in a mischievous tone.

"After that, you're fucking _me_ , you greedy bastard." Draco rolled off Harry and lied down on his side, raising a flirty eyebrow. "Look, I got a bit babbly while we were – "

"I don't want to leave, Draco. We're just getting to know each other again. I'm finally feeling comfortable and _happy_ , looking forward to being in Provence, looking – "

"So stay." The reply came so automatically and with such conviction that Harry couldn't believe it, but when he examined Draco's face, he found no evidence of caprice. Draco seemed to realize the open-ended nature of his request was causing Harry some stress so he added, "For another week maybe or just a couple days? You're retired, you don't have a wife to get back to. Why not?"

"You really wouldn't mind? Isn't it the busy season? Will you have room for me?"

"We're booked solid, but you can stay in my suite... if you like," a flicker of nerves danced across the brilliant silver of Draco's eyes, "I'd very much like it if you would."

"You're sure you want this, Draco?" Harry's eyebrows knit together as he fixed Draco with a solemn gaze.

"I'm sure that I don't want you to leave on Friday." That was good enough for Harry. He remembered Rosamunde's words at the pond. Thinking too far into the future wouldn't serve either of them well. Best to take it a couple days at a time and see where it went. Harry thought Draco would agree. After all, they were both at very similar points in their lives. They wanted the same things, neither poised to rush into commitment but very much eager to spend time together.

"Alright, then I'll stay. Besides, I'm sure you won’t be shy about telling me if I start to crowd you." Harry grinned and lightly tickled Draco's ribs.

"Yes, how dare you crowd me with all this passionate sex. It’s quite selfish of you. Have you no shame? No sense of propriety, Potter?" Draco teased, mouthing at Harry's shoulder and chest.

"I know. I'm hopelessly depraved, and I'm afraid the only cure is several days of you having me on every surface in your rooms."

 

***

 

After they came down from their euphoria, they lay under the descending sun idly talking of this and that until near dark. Aware that doing it together would likely result in debatable levels of cleanliness, they agreed to part for separate showers and reconvene later.

As Harry closed the door to his suite, he took out his phone and saw that Hermione had called to wish him a happy birthday. She had also sent a text telling him to call and let her know he was alright. He pressed the button to return her call, and Hermione picked up after only a couple rings.

"Harry! Happy birthday! Sorry if my messages seemed a little motherly, but after our last conversation, I wanted to make sure you were having a better time." Harry heard the din of Ron and Rosie chatting in the background. It was nice to hear her voice, especially after having such a wonderful day.

"You wouldn't be Hermione if you weren't a bit motherly so don't worry about it. Sorry I didn't call you back. I've, er, well I've been with Draco all day." Harry sat on the edge of his bed and fiddled with the bottom of the comforter, grateful that Hermione wasn't there to see him grinning like a lovesick idiot. Not that she needed to. Hermione was perceptive even from over seven hundred miles away.

"Oh, _really_? Do I detect a bit of an excited flush through the phone?" To Harry's surprise, Hermione sounded delighted about it so he elected to be truthful.

"Yeah, um... well, we sort of..." Harry chuckled. How on Earth could he phrase this? It was like being fourteen all over again.

"I thought you might." Harry could hear the knowing smile in her voice.

"What?! How? It's _Malfoy_. This should be a shock!"

"Oh come on, Harry, you were obsessed with each other in school. You spent a whole year following him and tracking his every move, and with Draco... well, practically every taunt seems like veiled sexual tension in hindsight. He was pulling your pigtails like the emotionally stunted boy he was. But _now_ , he's not that confused boy, you're both divorced, you both like men, and you're at this picturesque romantic getaway in the south of France. All the elements are stirring together like a well-crafted potion. I figured at the very least you'd strike up a friendship."

"And what about you asking Draco to make sure I'm having a good time?" Harry shook his head with a smile, his friend's astute nature never ceasing to amaze him.

"Ah, well that was simply the necessary catalyst. The match to the parchment. Hardheaded as you two can be, I figured you might need a jumpstart. Like trying to goad a cat into... well, doing most anything really," Hermione chuckled.

"Oh Hermione, what would I do without you?"

"Why, you'd be utterly lost, of course." Harry heard Ron shouting to ask if it was him on the other end of the line. The sound went muffled as Hermione presumably put her hand over the microphone and filled Ron in on the news.

"Would you like to talk to Ron?"

"I get the feeling he's going to relentlessly take the piss, but yes. Put him on. Let's get it over with," Harry replied good-naturedly. There was a rustle of movement as the phone changed hands, and then a familiar masculine voice came on.

"Alright, mate. So you and Malfoy? Fill me in, and I'll try not to recoil in horror."

Harry and Ron chatted for a bit, and Harry was glad to hear he was happy for him even if he couldn't resist getting in a few ferret-based jabs. Maybe François was right. Fifty might turn out to be a magnificent year after all. 

 

***

 

The next day, François, Rosamunde, and a few people from the winery staff (including Antoine and Blaise) had set up a game of pétanque in a sand pit a few yards from the east side of the winery. Blaise had been thrilled to see that Draco and Harry had come together after all these years. He was all too eager to recount the embarrassing details of Draco’s youthful crush, and Draco was all too eager to shut him up.

“You come find me when he’s too occupied to notice, and I’ll tell you all about it, Harry,” Blaise had said with a wink.

“Unless you’re keen to jeopardize your future employment at this establishment, I’d caution against that course of action, Blaise,” Draco had warned with a scowl, but he exchanged flirtatious smiles with Harry nevertheless.

Harry was woefully bad at pétanque, unable to adequately control the force of his tosses and therefore missing the target "jack" ball by an embarrassingly large margin each time. 

"See, this is why you were a Seeker and not a Chaser. No control and no aim," Draco had whispered into his ear after a particularly dismal throw, earning him a jab to the ribs from Harry's elbow. After a couple more failed attempts, Harry surrendered, forfeiting his next turn and joining Draco under the umbrella-ed table to recline with wine and cheese instead. With his sunglasses, artfully tousled hair, and his button-down undone to the middle of his sternum, Draco looked like a film star from the French New Wave era. Harry wanted to lick the nearly imperceptible beads of sweat forming above his upper lip. "Giving up, Potter? That's not the Gryffindor way."

"When there's wine and you over _here_ , there's no reason to be over _there_." Harry kissed Draco's forehead and reached for an olive from the bowl near the center of the table.

"Flatterer." Draco smiled into his wine glass and moved his chair closer to Harry's.

"Better get used to it. You willingly signed on for another whole week of me."

"Oh, you’re not staying for a week."

Harry's face fell, all the color draining from his cheeks as he frenetically worried that Draco had changed his mind.

"I’m not? But I thought – "

"You’re staying all summer."

"I am?!" Harry's pitch rose higher as his befuddlement grew. Draco canted his head, and a lazy smile spread across his lips, one leg crossed over the other, and a lithe arm draped over the back of his chair.

"You know why messing with you in school was so irresistible?"

"Because you're an obnoxious git?"

Harry couldn't see behind his dark glasses, but he'd have bet his life savings that Draco was rolling his eyes. Draco sighed and took a hearty drink of wine.

"Besides that."

Harry pondered for a moment and then shrugged in defeat.

"Because you've always been so bloody easy to get a rise out of. Quick to compassion, yes, but equally quick to anger and annoyance too. Although you really are quite endearing when you're wearing that panicked 'has Draco lost his mind' look, I would ask that you kindly unruffle your feathers and consider my proposition. Have you got anything better to do, Potter? As we’ve already established, you’re retired and divorced. You have all the time in the world to be my kept man."

"Kept man?! Draco, if you think for a single second I'm going to submit to – " Harry started to protest, but then he caught sight of Draco's grin, full of mirth and more silliness than he’d ever seen from him. He was putting him on. They both burst into laughter that only intensified when they saw François's drunken victory dance around the pétanque court, his arms flailing with all the grace of a fish flopping on a dock. Rosamunde was egging him on, shouting " _la victoire!_ " and "woo woo"ing at the edge of the court. Blaise and Antoine were chuckling as they bowed to him like subjects in a royal court.

"In all seriousness though, you have no obligations waiting for you in England. You like it here, and I like _you_ here."

"I also only have a week’s worth of clothes." Harry couldn't deny that the prospect of spending the summer in Provence with Draco was immensely appealing, but it was also daunting. Another week was one thing, but could they survive a whole summer together? Would they get sick of each other? Would Draco remember all the reasons he used to hate Harry and regret asking him to stay?  

"That’s just as well. Your clothing has always been atrocious. This gives me a fortuitous opportunity to rectify the situation."

"Great, I can look forward to a life of silk pants and all the other rich bloke absurdities you can drum up."

"I have exemplary taste, and I'm fairly certain you love my clothes."

"I love them on _you_ , not me. I would look ridiculous. Maybe if I were a professional layabout who summers in a villa in Northern Italy I could get away with that look, but I’m not."

"You should be so lucky. And need I point out that you’re on holiday in Provence as we speak? Makes the basis of your argument very thin."

They went comfortably silent for a moment, watching the chatty group set up the next game.

"And what happens after the summer?" Harry gave Draco a tentative look, trying to decipher his intent.

"We go back to England," he said matter-of-factly. Like that was all there was to it. No debate necessary. No further details required.

"And then we...?" Was Draco suggesting they be a proper couple? It wasn't that Harry was opposed to the idea. Quite the opposite in fact, but this wasn't a conversation he expected Draco to initiate and definitely not right now.

"You’re asking an awful lot of questions, Harry. Why choose _this_ point in your life to start making informed decisions instead of your usual modus operandi of charging in unarmed and wild-eyed? Let me simply ask you this. What would you _like_ to happen, Potter?"

Harry sat in contemplation for a minute. He listened to the balmy breeze rattling the branches of the oak trees. He gazed out onto the rows of luscious grapes ripe for the picking, ready to be crushed and fermented into exquisite wines. He listened to the musical laughter of his new friends and the calls of birds perched in the trees. Harry looked over at Draco, his lover, his friend, his partner in banter, and admired the serenity of his pose, his face upturned to the sky and his features broadcasting nothing but peace. Not a care in the world except the here and now. The answer was instantly obvious.  

"I just want to be with you." He said it so quietly he wasn't sure if Draco had heard him, but then he turned to Harry with a beatific smile and kissed his lips.

"And I with you. So that’s what we’ll do. We can figure out the rest along the way."

"But what will we – " Draco kissed him again, harder this time, and Harry figured it was partially an attempt to shut him up.

"Please do stop trying to ruin a romantic moment with your incessant blathering. You really haven’t changed much, have you?"

"No, sorry. I’m afraid I haven’t."

Draco's smile broadened, and he ran his fingers through Harry's unruly locks.

"Don’t be sorry. I always did like you, Potter."

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Food Fair reveals are upon us! So happy to finally be able to share this work with all of you under my actual name. I adored writing this fic. It's one of my favorite things I've ever done, and I am so ecstatic that it seemed to get a good response from those of you who squee-ed in the comments. :D
> 
> I'm [dracoismytrashson](https://dracoismytrashson.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you'd like to say hello!
> 
> Thanks to the mods for being absolute superheroes! This fest was incredible and run so smoothly and with so much creativity.


End file.
